


Here Without You

by gracerene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, An Ode to Draco's Bum, Auror Harry Potter, Background Het, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Denial, Dirty Letters, Epistolary, Explosions, Flashbacks, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Harry Potter & Parvati Patil Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Implied Switching, Loneliness, Love Letters, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Hogwarts, Top Harry Potter, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/pseuds/gracerene
Summary: It's been seven years since the end of the Second Wizarding War with Voldemort, and a new Dark Lady has taken over in nearby Ireland. Harry feels compelled to volunteer to fight on the front lines, but war is never safe, and Harry has a lot—including his blissfully happy relationship with Draco—to lose.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 54
Kudos: 106
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@hd-hurtfest](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) 2020.
> 
> Thank you so much to firethesound & writcraft for the cheerleading, brainstorming, betaing, and the all-around fabulous feedback. Thanks to the mods for resurrecting this amazingly angsty fest!

←→

"All right, Harry?" Parvati asked, leaning in and lowering her voice so that only Harry could hear.

They were sat next to each other at a large table that was crowded around with various members of the Irish Magical Resistance. He and Parvati were in Ireland on loan from the Auror Department in London, both of them having volunteered to help fight against Dark Lady Foley who'd been wreaking havoc in the country for years, and who had recently overthrown the Irish Ministry. It was a different time, a different place, with different people, but looking around this table always filled Harry with a pang as he recalled the Order meetings at Grimmauld Place. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it had only been seven years since the end of that war. Being an adult at the table now, it was hard not to cringe as he remembered how difficult he'd been back then, filled with the righteous anger only a teenager could truly manage. He now knew from experience that these strategy sessions were not nearly as exciting as he'd imagined them to be back when he'd been barred from attending them. 

"Harry?" Parvati prompted when he didn't respond, her tone more concerned as she gave him a gentle nudge that pulled him from his musings.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Harry muttered. She gave him a sceptical glance that sent a pang right through him. He and Parvati had grown quite close over their years working together as Aurors, and closer still since they'd both come over to Ireland, but she wasn't Ron or Hermione. Her gentle concern, while touching, mostly just served to make Harry miss his best mates all the more. It didn't feel right, fighting a war without them by his side. He knew why they couldn't come, given Rose was still just a baby and Hermione was pregnant again with their second child—he would have stopped them himself if either had tried to volunteer. But this was the longest he'd ever gone without seeing either of them in person, and he missed them. 

Of course, missing them always led to him thinking about the other people he missed, which inevitably led to him thinking of _Draco_ , whom he missed most of all. His heart clenched painfully with longing, and he quickly focused back on Parvati.

"I'm just antsy I suppose," he continued. "The last week has been pretty quiet—that always makes me wary."

"Quiet isn't necessarily a bad thing, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, though these days he wasn't quite sure he agreed with that sentiment. Quiet just left room for him to think, to miss the people who weren't with him and the life he had before the call of duty brought him hundreds of miles away. "I'm feeling a little frustrated, that’s all. Besides, it makes me nervous when Lady Foley goes quiet. Every time that's happened over the last six months it's been right before something massive and awful, like when she attacked the _Howling Hellebore_ concert because they'd been so vocally critical of her war crimes."

Parvati winced, her expression bleak. Her sister was a massive _Howling Hellebore_ fan and went to a lot of their concerts. Harry remembered how panicked she'd been when they got news of the attack, terrified Padma might have been there, which she thankfully hadn't been. 

"I know," she said with a sigh. "I've been pressing Fathi about it, but you know how he gets. Not one to be proactive, him."

She looked reprovingly at their de facto head strategist, Fathi Ayad, a handsome man in his forties, with glossy black hair, warm brown skin, and a sharp, eagle-eyed gaze that missed nothing. He'd been head of the Irish Auror Department before Lady Foley had taken over more than a year ago and promptly charged him—and several other of her high-ranking detractors—with treason. He'd only just escaped with his life, and he and several others started working full time to bring her down. From what Harry had seen over the past six months, Fathi seemed like a good man trying his best, but he was worn thin and growing weary. Harry didn't think Parvati was being entirely fair—no doubt Fathi understood an attack was coming but without solid intel there wasn't much he could do, and they didn't have the manpower to monitor all possible targets. Explaining that to Parvati wouldn't do much good though; Fathi and Parvati had been like oil and water from the start.

"He's doing the best he can, Parvati," Harry said wearily. They'd had this argument before, and Harry wasn't keen on being accused of taking his "side", not when they were all on the _same_ side.

Parvati sighed. "Yeah, I know," she said grudgingly. "And we haven't heard from Kelly in over a week. He was supposed to check in three days ago." She gnawed on her lip, her expression filled with worry. Kelly was an undercover agent they'd placed in Lady Foley's ranks months ago. He was a thorough bloke, and a double-agent missing a check-in was never a good sign.

"Losing access to Lady Foley's inner circle will be a blow," Harry said grimly, reaching the same conclusion that Parvati had; Kelly was likely already dead. Parvati frowned at Harry's somewhat heartless assessment of the situation—yes, it would be tragic for Kelly's friends and family if he'd been murdered, but Harry was neither a friend nor family, and he'd lost enough people in his life to have learned the ability to compartmentalise when he needed to. "I know Byrne has been making the rounds through the underground duelling circuits, trying to get noticed by Foley and her followers, but until then…" 

"More waiting," Parvati said, giving Harry a commiserating pat on the shoulder. 

Merlin, how he hated the waiting.

Harry sighed and attempted to tune back in to the conversation around him, only to realise everybody was leaving. The majority of the resistance members had their own homes and lives to manage, keeping their participation in the resistance under wraps—it was only Fathi, Harry, Parvati, and the increasing number of people who Foley had attempted to arrest or kill who stayed under Fathi's manor protections full-time. Luckily the house was massive—and Unplottable—so there was plenty of space for those that were there, and room for more as Lady Foley drove others underground. But they couldn't hide behind Fathi's wards forever, and Harry was itching for a proper fight. Unlike Voldemort, there were no Horcruxes that prevented her from dying for good, and no mystic prophecy foretelling her downfall could only come at the hands of a teenager. All they needed was to work out her movements in advance so they could attack when she was least expecting it.

He yawned, the long day catching up to him, and Parvati huffed a gentle laugh. The two were nothing alike, but Draco used to laugh just like that when Harry was exhausted at the end of the day before ushering him off to bed. Godric, what Harry wouldn't give to be home right now in the flat they shared, crawling into bed with him right at that moment.

"It looks like we're done here for the day, Harry. You should go to your room and get some rest." She paused before continuing more carefully. "It doesn't seem like you've been sleeping well. You know you can always take some Dreamless—"

"I'm fine," Harry snapped, guilt prickling at him immediately at Parvati's hurt expression. He softened his tone as he continued, "Sorry, but I'm all right, really. You know that stuff's addictive, and I don't like the way it knocks me out." For every nightmare Harry had, there was an amazing dream to balance it out, dreams of home, of his friends, of the man he'd left behind. They were the closest Harry had to the real thing, and he wasn't giving that up.

"All right," she said, clearly still concerned but deciding not to push. "If you say so."

"I do," Harry replied firmly before giving her a smile, showing there were no hard feelings. "But you're right, I should probably go to bed. I'd like to turn in early, but I owe Draco a letter. I'll go to sleep after that."

Parvati's expression grew pained, and she opened her mouth as if to say something before seeming to think better of it. Good. He knew people had plenty of reasons to dislike Draco for his role in the second war with Voldemort, and they had every right to their anger. But the war had ended seven year ago, and he and Harry had been together for several years—plenty of time for his friends to get used to the idea. It wasn't like Parvati to hold a grudge, and she'd seemed to get on with him well enough the few times Harry had brought him to their Auror Department get-togethers, but perhaps being in the midst of this war was stirring up bad memories of the last one she'd been involved in.

"Tell him—" She broke off and cleared her throat, looking away and blinking rapidly, as if she'd caught something in her eye. When she turned back to face him there was a bright, brittle smile on her face. "Tell him I say hello, will you?"

Harry nodded, giving her a genuine smile in return. She was clearly remembering Draco wasn't the same boy he'd been when he'd made all the wrong choices. He appreciated her trying.

"I will. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear from you." He stood, giving Fathi a nod to indicate he was heading up to bed.

"Good night, Parvati."

Parvati looked strangely sad and forlorn as she glanced away. "Goodnight, Harry."

←→

_Dearest Draco,_

_I can't believe I've already been here for six months. How is it that every day seems to drag on for an eternity, and yet the months have flown by? Maybe it's the monotony of everything that causes the seconds to last for an age while the weeks all blur together. Not that we haven't seen our share of action. I don't want to seem like I'm complaining about the slow times, not when excitement here comes at such a high cost. But you know how much I hate sitting still and waiting, though I know we're not just standing around twiddling our thumbs. Just because every day doesn't involve a new strike-team or us launching a rescue mission, it doesn't mean we're sitting on our arses and making no progress. But Merlin, I don't know if I was cut out for all this strategy and research. It makes me wish Ron and Hermione were here, and not just because I miss them. With 'Mione's love of research and Ron's head for strategy, they'd be more suited to these tasks than I am. Then again, being here reminds me a lot of that year of Horcrux hunting, all this hurry up and wait, and none of us held up well under that strain. Though, thankfully, the food here is much better and heartier than Hermione's cooking… not that I'd ever tell her that! Still, as much as I miss them and their support, I'm glad they're not here dealing with the horrors of war once more. They're much better off back at home with their family, doing what they can back in Britain._

_But enough of how much I miss my friends! I know you understand, but this is your letter so, naturally, it should be all about you. Of course I miss you, too. I miss you most of all, you know that don't you? (Just don't tell Ron and 'Mione) It's this steady ache in my chest, so constant that six months in and I'm almost used to it now. Almost. _

_Every once in a while, though, I'll see something or hear something that reminds me of you and it sets the ache throbbing all over again. I found this stone in the gardens yesterday that was the exact colour of your eyes, and I nearly dropped to my knees with the force of missing you. Brought down by a bloody rock! It's sitting on my bedside table now, the last thing I see before I close my eyes, and the first thing I see when I open them again. Terribly sappy of me, I know, but I hope you'll forgive me the indulgence. Without you here to poke fun at my gooey tendencies, I'm afraid they've been running rampant. Next thing you know I'll be composing you a poem to send in my next letter. (Kidding! … probably. What rhymes with "stone-grey eyes"? Asking for a friend.)_

_Merlin, what I wouldn't give to have you here with me… But no, I'm glad you're not here. This is no place for you to be. No place for anybody to be. What I really want is for us to be together somewhere else, somewhere far away where we would be safe and happy and together. _

_Soon. I've got to have hope that it'll be soon._

_Fathi seems to think we're closing in. I'm getting used to the way things work over here now, but it's still strange reporting to somebody other than Robards—their management styles are very different, but Fathi's not a bad chap to work for. Not that you'd know it if you asked Parvati. As nice as it's been having somebody I know here with me, it's a bit trying the way her and Fathi are constantly going at it. Thank god he's not the type who can't handle when subordinates talk back because Parvati is certainly committed to keeping him on his toes! All they do is bicker and argue and snap at one another. She says he's a stubborn, arrogant arse who refuses to take sound advice from her just because she's a woman. He says she's overly self-important and thinks all her thoughts and ideas are superior because she's British and thinks they all need saving. _

_So, you know, things are going great on the war front._

_Actually, for all their arguing, I think they both really admire and respect one another. I don't believe either of them would bother expending all that energy fighting if they didn't really care about the other's opinions. And Fathi's under a lot of pressure, what with being the bloke who's pretty much responsible for doing whatever it takes to stop Lady Foley's bloody reign of terror._

_Am I terrible for feeling relieved that this time it's not me?_

_Then again, it's not like Fathi has some prophecy telling him he's the _Chosen One_. He's here because he loves his country and his people, and he knows that it's right. It's not that I felt any differently, but it's nice to have the choice. And to not be a teenager this time around, though in some ways it's bleaker now, being older and having a greater understanding of what's really at stake. Even ~~if~~ when we succeed, it's only half the battle. Arguably the easy half, though it doesn't feel like it now. But I know you're well aware of how long it's taken to rebuild in Britain after the second war with Voldemort. Our own Ministry is still cleaning up the aftermath of Voldemort's mess, and we didn't have the same issues that Muggle Ireland has to make things more complex. _

_Fathi's a good man, but he's proud. He's grateful for our aid, but I know he resents it, too. I can't blame him—our countries don't exactly have the best history with one another—and honestly, I'd expected it to be worse. Parvati and I are outsiders, here for the "glory" of battle before fucking off back home when it's done, leaving Fathi and the rest to clean up the mess. We're more than just bodies on the ground, though. Both Parvati and I have years of Auror experience, and we did live through and fight in our own war, however young we might have been at the time. I think sometimes Fathi forgets that our youth doesn't mean we don't have valuable insight, but he does listen to us and we've been put to good use. It's all a balancing act, wanting to be useful without coming across like we think we know best. I'm not here to be anybody's Saviour. I just want to help._

_But back to Fathi and Parvati… you know, something tells me there's more to their bickering than just a personality clash. He might be a good deal older than us, but he's quite fit (though nothing on YOU, of course!) and they're both single. I could be way off track (I never was good at this kind of thing, as you well know) but I do wonder how much of their back and forth is them pulling pigtails. And if they'll ever act on it. They're both consummate professionals, but war tends to send proprietary right out the window. Life's too short to not grasp onto every bit of happiness you can get._

_Perhaps I'm reading into Fathi and Parvati's sniping because it reminds me so much of us when we first got together. How fascinated I was by this new person you'd become, how desperately I wanted to get to know you… and you, with your prickles and your spikes, rebuffing me at every turn! But I wore you down eventually, didn't I? I'm so glad you said yes, Draco. I hope you are, too, even with all this distance between us._

_It won't be forever, I promise. Some day soon I'll hold you in my arms again. I'll bury my nose in your silky hair and breath in the intoxicating scent of your shampoo. (I still can't smell almond oil without getting hard, which was very awkward when Fathi's sister brought us an almond cake last week…) But enough talk about that, this isn't one of those kind of letters. Although… it could be, if you would like that? You've always been the one with the ~~filthy~~ silver tongue, but I could certainly try. God knows my imagination (and my hand) have been getting a healthy workout these past six months. I've got fantasies to spare—I look forward to making them a reality when we're together again._

_I'd apologise for the long letter, but you've always been a fast reader—I'm sure you've made quick work of it. But it's getting late here and I've got an early start tomorrow, so I should probably get to bed. I'll say goodnight, and send this off with all my love. I'll write to you again, soon._

_Love,_

_Harry_

←→

"All right, what seems to be the pro— _you_." 

Harry grinned at his Healer, clearly much happier to see Malfoy than Malfoy was to see Harry.

"Yup, me."

Malfoy scowled and looked down at the chart in his hand. He was clearly in the middle of a busy shift, his blond hair slightly messy and his cheeks rosy as he read over the admittance form he obviously hadn't had a chance to look over before coming in. If he had, then he wouldn't have been so surprised. Then again, if he had, he might have tried to pass off the case to a fellow Healer, which would have been a waste of a perfectly good broken arm/valid excuse to see Malfoy.

As a dedicated (or reckless, if you listened to Hermione) Auror, Harry managed to find his way to St Mungo's just about once a week. It wasn't Harry's favourite part of the job, getting injured, but it had certainly become a whole lot more interesting once Malfoy had been assigned as his Healer a few months ago. Harry had lost track of Malfoy in the aftermath of the war, a fact that bothered him more than it should have. Though in all his vague wonderings of what Malfoy was up to, Harry had certainly never guessed that Malfoy was abroad training to become a Healer. The second Harry saw him again after all these years, his obsession had reignited with a passion. Malfoy being a Healer was so at odds with the selfish, cowardly teenager Harry had known him as, he couldn't help his fascination.

Ever since, he'd made it a point of specially requesting Malfoy whenever he ended up in St Mungo's, and since Malfoy seemed to all but live at the hospital (and since Harry was _the_ Harry Potter) he tended to get his wish. Much to Malfoy's obvious dismay.

"All right," Malfoy said with a sigh. "Let's get this over with so you can stop stalking me, at least for today."

"I'm not stalking you!" Harry protested, perhaps a little too emphatically judging by Malfoy's dubiously raised eyebrows. "It's not my fault I've got a dangerous profession."

"And yet somehow the rest of your colleagues manage to go entire months without gracing my examination room," Malfoy said with a sniff as he looked down at Harry's chart. "It says here you believe your arm is broken?"

Harry nodded, gingerly holding out his throbbing arm. Malfoy stepped forward, pressing his cool fingers against the inflamed skin before casting a complex series of diagnostic spells that made Harry's stomach clench. Not from the spells themselves, but from the casual display of skill as Draco whizzed through the complicated wandwork. He frowned for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, looks like a fractured ulna. It's a clean break, so I should be able to mend it without too much time or difficulty."

Harry barely heard a word he said, too captivated by watching Malfoy work. He'd always had a bit of a thing (okay, a _massive_ thing) for competence—not to mention lithe physiques and fluency in snark and sarcasm—and getting to see first-hand how good Malfoy was at his job made Harry's heart race.

"Are you feeling all right?" Malfoy asked, his expression creased with concern. "Your heart rate is elevated. Is it the pain?"

Harry flushed and shook his head. "I'm okay. You said you can fix it?"

Malfoy gave him a suspicious look but nodded. "Yes. I can do it now if you're ready?"

"Go for it."

This was always Harry's favourite part, when he not only got to watch Draco work his literal magic, but got to _feel_ it as well, feel the tingly tendrils of it wrapping around Harry's body and mending him up. Who was this Draco Malfoy who spent his days and nights tirelessly working to help others? Harry wanted to get to know him, wanted to find out if it was all just a ruse to restore his family name, or if he'd actually had a change of heart, if he genuinely wished to make amends for the horrible choices he'd made as a child. 

"All right," Draco said several minutes later as he finished casting the spell. The lone bead of sweat dripping down his forehead was the only sign of the effort he'd just expended in healing Harry with his magic. "You should be all set."

Harry laughed. "No pun intended?"

Malfoy looked at him like he was a few Gobstones shy of a full set. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nevermind," Harry said, flushing. "Muggle thing."

"Oh, right," Malfoy replied awkwardly. "Well, I have more patients to see. I trust you can find your way out?"

"Wait!" Harry called before Malfoy could leave. Malfoy heaved a heavy sigh before turning around with the air of somebody greatly put upon as Harry continued, "What are you doing this Friday?"

"Not _that_ again."

Harry beamed at him. "You didn't think you were going to get off that easy, did you?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but Harry saw the hint of a smile he was doing his level best to suppress. "I hoped you might have finally got the hint, but I suppose that was naïve of me."

Harry nodded. "Yes, you're much smarter than that. So smart, in fact, that you'll see the wisdom in finally agreeing to go out with me. This Friday at eight?"

Malfoy's lips twitched as he arranged his expression into something suitably disappointed. "Oh, I'm _terribly_ sorry, but I'm afraid I'm working that night. In fact, I'm working every night for the foreseeable future. Too bad."

"Oh, I don't mind, I can come here. Even overworked Healers get breaks—I asked your supervisor—accommodating bloke Healer Chen. I can bring you dinner, do you like Indian? I know this place that makes an _unreal_ Butter Chicken. Melts in your mouth."

Malfoy sighed. "Why on earth are you so determined to date me? Have you forgotten the fact that we don't actually get on? Childhood rivals? Opposite sides of a war? Hero and villain? Does any of this ring any bells?"

"I didn't get on with the person you were when we were back at Hogwarts, but I know full well people can change," Harry said. He wasn't sure yet whether or not Malfoy _had_ changed, or if he'd just become a much better actor, but he found himself hoping it was the former. "I'm not asking you to marry me, I just want one date. If it's awful, then we don't have to go on another, and I'll even stop pestering you about it."

Malfoy's expression grew thoughtful. "That part does have some appeal."

"Come on, say yes," Harry wheedled with a coaxing smile. "Just one date. It can’t hurt."

Honestly, Harry wasn't entirely sure why he was pushing quite so hard. It wasn't like him to chase somebody—frankly, he didn't usually have to, and he wasn't the type who got off on not being wanted. Normally a person's disinterest would have been enough to cool Harry's ardour, but none of Harry's usual rules ever seemed to apply to Malfoy. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, and a part of Harry hoped this date would be enough to get Malfoy out of his system. Either it would be amazing and they would keep seeing each other (an outcome even Harry had his doubts about) or spending time with Malfoy would be enough to show Harry that he hadn't changed all that much after all, and Harry would be able to move past this obsession.

" _Consult request for Healer Malfoy, room 42904,_ " said a smooth, feminine voice from the Healer's pin on Malfoy's robes. Malfoy frowned.

"I'm sorry, I really must be going," Malfoy said, turning to leave the room.

"Was that a yes to this Friday?" Harry shouted down the corridor after him, ignoring the curious stares of the patients and Healers walking down the halls.

"I'll think about it," Malfoy shouted back over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

Harry grinned. It wasn't a no.

←→


	2. Chapter 2

←→

A knock on his door drew Harry's attention away from the letter he was writing to Draco, and he fought off a scowl at the interruption as he called for whoever it was to come in. Parvati edged open the door, her expression a mixture of caution and tempered excitement. 

"Fathi's just called an emergency meeting downstairs."

Harry's eyebrows went up and he put away his quill and the partially written letter with a sweep of his wand. "Do you know what's going on?"

She leaned against the door jam, waiting as he tugged on a pair of shoes and threw a set of   
robes on over his pyjamas. "I don't know the specifics, but Byrne Apparated in for a private debrief a little over an hour ago."

Harry's heart began to race with excitement. This could be it. "He must have something good."

After weeks of effort on the underground duelling circuits, proving his magical strength and making connections, Byrne had finally been invited to join Lady Foley's _political party_. It was particularly timely for the resistance, as their only other undercover agent, Kelly, had been missing, presumed dead, for weeks; they'd just discovered his body a few days past. It made Byrne's position all the more precarious, as Foley would no doubt expect the resistance to try and plant another mole, but Byrne knew the risks; taking down Lady Foley and her followers was more important.

Byrne had been feeding them information for the past few weeks, but thus far he'd not had much to offer. It was understandable that they might not trust their newest recruit with all their most sensitive information right off, but they didn't have time to wait around forever while Byrne proved his mettle. For Fathi to be calling an emergency meeting, it meant that Byrne must have finally brought something they could take action on.

God, Harry hoped so.

He followed Parvati down the back staircase, unsurprised to see that many of the other key players in the resistance were already seated in the formal-dining-room-turned-command-centre. All of the people that lived at the Manor were already there, of course, and several others who lived elsewhere—keeping a lower profile out in public in order to maintain key positions helpful to the resistance—had also turned up.

Fathi was at the head of the table, as grim faced as ever, but Harry didn't think he was imagining the glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked everybody over. Harry's racing heart skipped a beat. 

He settled at the table, nodding in acknowledgement when Parvati's eyes flicked meaningfully towards Fathi, clearly wondering if Harry was seeing what she was. Harry could barely contain himself, his entire body thrumming with the need to hear the news. But he made himself wait, knowing Fathi would prefer not to repeat himself. 

Finally the room was full. Every chair at the table was taken, and those that had come in too late to snag one were crowded up against the walls, their faces hungry with anticipation. Fathi cleared his throat, and the room went deathly silent. 

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here for this emergency meeting, so let's not delay any longer. As you all know, Byrne has managed to ingratiate himself with Lady Foley's inner circle, and he's brought us some news." He gestured towards Byrne, who nodded calmly.

"Lady Foley's leaving the country." The room gasped, but Fathi held up a hand, forestalling any questions as Byrne continued, "Not permanently, of course. But she's been furious by most countries' refusal to acknowledge her leadership of Ireland as legitimate. Britain and several other countries have been directly aiding our resistance"—he nodded at Harry and Parvati—"and many others have been imposing embargoes and sanctions that aren't doing her or Ireland's economy any favours. Even her supporters have been grumbling about the price hykes and shortages. She's worried about being able to hold the country and has been scrambling to make allies who'll come to her aid if she needs to make an even stronger show of force to maintain control. Apparently she's arranged to meet with one or more foreign powers—I don't know which ones—but they've required that she come to them."

"Of course they have," Parvati said in an undertone to Harry. "They'd be mad to come to a country in the middle of a civil war."

Harry agreed. Then again, he also thought any government willing to acknowledge Lady Foley's claim to power and ignore the gross violations of human rights and decency she was committing daily must be a bit mad already. At least with power and greed.

"She leaves in a week," Byrne continued. "And she'll be gone for four days."

"Okay, but what's that mean for us?" interrupted Imogen impatiently. She was the star Chaser and Captain of the Ballycastle Bats, an extremely accomplished duellist, and a long-time vocal critic of Lady Foley before the Lady had grabbed enough power to issue a warrant for Imogen's arrest. She was an asset to the resistance, but was not the most patient of people, and being unable to play the sport that was her life's calling for so long was starting to take its toll. "Are we thinking with her gone we can take back the country?"

Fathi frowned, though Harry wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at the interruption or the unfortunate news he was about to deliver. 

"No, that doesn't seem to be a viable option. Even with Lady Foley gone, their headquarters are still far too well guarded—trying to take over would be too great a risk. They'll be extra paranoid in her absence, and we already know from Kelly's intel, may he rest in peace, that she's set up several different splinter cells throughout Ireland that are carrying out separate aspects of her agenda. What we need to do is capture Lady Foley, _alive_ , as she's the only person we can count on to have a full knowledge of her plans and offshoots."

"Which has been our aim all along, and thus far we've not had an opportunity for it," Parvati said, her eyes narrowing, apparently taking umbrage with some aspect of Fathi's delivery. "I take it something's changed?"

Fathi's jaw clenched in obvious annoyance and he gave a quick, sharp nod. "Yes. As you all know, Foley Manor is heavily warded. It's all but impenetrable, but those protections work both ways. She won't be able to arrange an International Portkey or Apparate out of the country from behind her wards, and given she doesn't want her absence from Ireland being made public, she won't be going through official Ministry channels, either."

Harry couldn't help but remember the sudden, terrifying move in the week before his seventeenth birthday, when he left the protection of his Aunt and Uncle's house early hoping to catch Voldemort off guard. It hadn't worked, of course, and all these years later it still hurt whenever he saw a snowy owl soaring through the sky, which was thankfully not often. His unique history meant he immediately understood Fathi's plan.

"You want us to attack before she leaves," Harry said, knowing his grin was a little too wide. The plan was risky, but these days Harry lived for a bit of danger to break up the monotony. "It's going to be a tight window between when she leaves the protection of the Foley Manor wards and when her Portkey activates. And she'll be on the lookout for trouble."

Byrne nodded eagerly. "She always is, though. And it's not just the greater wizarding world she doesn't want to know about her absence; she's not telling her followers, either. Only a dozen or so of her closest inner circle have been made aware, so we can expect a minimal guard."

"So how do _you_ know about this little trip, then, if she's playing it so close to her chest? How do we know she's not setting a trap?" challenged one of the wizards leaning insociently against the wall. Harry couldn't remember the bloke's name, he only knew he was the resistance's connection to some of the more unsavory elements, not unlike Mundungus Fletcher had been for the Order. Though from what Harry had seen, he appeared more trustworthy than Mundungus had ever been—at least all of the silver in Fathi's manor seemed to be accounted for.

Thankfully Byrne was experienced enough not to let the man's accusation get to him—Harry would have worried about his placement in Lady Foley's camp if he'd been ruffled. Working undercover required an unflappable temper and the ability to think on your feet.

"We can't, of course, completely discount the possibility, but I've been able to verify the information from a number of sources and believe it to be genuine. I wasn't directly informed—as you say, I'm not sufficiently high enough in Lady Foley's estimation to warrant such a confidence—but I _am_ there as a spy. If I were to rely solely on the information I've been told, I'd not be of much use to the resistance."

This answer seemed to satisfy, and Harry saw many people around the room beginning to share in his own excitement. Parvati seemed similarly enthused, though it was clear her hope was tempered with caution.

"As Harry said, it seems we'd have a _very_ narrow window in which to make our move. And we'd need to be ready and waiting at the exact time and place where Lady Foley plans to take her Portkey."

Fathi inclined his head towards Parvati in acknowledgement. "That is correct. And we have less than a week to make an airtight plan of attack, hence this emergency meeting. Byrne has been able to provide us with what he believes is the time and place that Lady Foley will leave the protection of her wards. From that moment, we'll have approximately five minutes during which time Lady Foley will have to create and activate the Portkey—thankfully she's paranoid enough that she won't trust anybody else to create it on her behalf, nor will she create it beforehand and risk it being tampered with. That is our window to attack and take Lady Foley hostage. We can expect up to a dozen of her closest confederates to be with her."

"And how confident are we of Byrne's intel on the time and place? Given how critical that is to the success of the mission, I'd say we need to be pretty damn sure."

"Agreed. Byrne has a high level of confidence in this information, but he'll be spending the next week continuing his reconnaissance to confirm. In the meantime, we'll proceed with the intelligence we've been given."

The rest of the meeting was strategic, Fathi outlining his tentative plans, taking note of volunteers and doling out assignments. It was just the start of what was bound to be a week's worth of planning, and Harry knew he'd be more involved in the sessions that got into the specifics of the battle plans, so he mostly sat back for now, bolstered by the enthusiasm of the room and the possibility of being so close to their goal.

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_Dear Draco,_

_How are you? How's the flat? Are you getting enough sleep? Are you remembering to eat? Have the goldfinches come back to roost in the tree by our bedroom window? I always loved watching them in the spring, waking up to their songs at the crack of dawn, laughing as you grumbled and buried your head under your pillow at that infernal racket. I never thought of the goldfinches when I left, never considered that they'd be something that I'd miss and yet— _

_Sorry, Parvati interrupted and I lost my train of thought, but I think… I think this all might be over soon. Maybe. I can't say too much here, in case the letter is intercepted, but we've got a plan, and I have a good feeling about it. Of course, it could all fall apart, like our last several attempts have, but I have to hold on to hope. It would be easy to give up, to let despair take hold, but then I think of you, of how badly I want to be with you again, and my strength comes back to me._

_It's strange, being here. I can't help but remember everything we went through with Voldemort—the parallels are undeniable—but it's different, too. I'm older, for one thing (and you're older than me, so don't you even start!), and I have more training and experience. And though I wouldn't be here if I didn't care, I can't pretend that the stakes don't feel different when it's not my friends, my people, my country, suffering. When I don't have the weight of the war directly on my shoulders—it's almost freeing, knowing it's not up to me to win this war. In fact, I rather think Fathi and his people would resent it if a Brit was the one to ride in on their white Abraxan and save them. They're grateful for our help, but they want to be the ones to save themselves, and I can't blame them for that. I've already defeated one Dark Lord; I'll help with another, but I don't need that particular glory—you know I never did. _

_But being here has certainly brought up a lot of memories, things I've not thought about so deeply in years. I remember the boy I was, the boy you were, and marvel about how things have changed, how much progress we all made in the seven years since our own war ended. I think about telling a 17-year-old me that one day the only thing keeping me going would be the thought of Draco Malfoy holding me tight, and I can't help but laugh at the thought of my reaction! I know you don't need my approval, and you've always been rotten at taking compliments, but I really am so proud of you. I know it was hard for you, after the war, and it would have been so much easier for you to double-down on your upbringing, to let the wizarding world's censure close you off to owning up to your mistakes. It's what I would have expected of you, what I think most people expected, and I'm so glad you found your strength. Not only because I think the world's a better place for it, but because I know my world's better for having you in it._

_I can just picture you scowling as you read this, your cheeks bright red, sputtering in indignation because I dared to give you a compliment! But I can't help it if I miss you, and absence does indeed seem to be making this heart of mine grow even fonder of you, which I hadn't thought possible._

_Do you know what I think about most? And no, it's not your arse, though that does occupy a significant portion of my thoughts: It's kissing you. I've always liked snogging well enough, but I never really got the appeal until we got together. The way you kiss… it's on another level. I could kiss you for hours, content without taking things any further—like when our flat flooded and we had to stay over at the Burrow. You refused to have sex when there was a chance a Weasley might overhear, Merlin forbid, but I didn't even care. It was nice, spending those nights in bed with you, just kissing, knowing it wasn't foreplay but the main event. That was a good week. I mean, dealing with fixing up the flat was a bloody nightmare, but it was nice seeing you have a chance to get to know Molly and Arthur better. I know they'd been making an effort to ensure you felt welcome before that, but that had been more for my sake than anything else. Once they got to know you, I knew they'd see what I do, and they did. It brings me some small measure of comfort knowing that, even though I had to leave you, you're not entirely alone. I'm sure Molly is doing her level best to fatten you up, and Arthur's probably pestering you about all the things you've learned about Muggles. I hope you're letting them care for you. I know it's not easy for you, but they need it just as much as you do._

_In the meantime, I'll be here, dreaming of you and your lips, remembering our first kiss, and our last. Longing for our next._

_All my love,_

_Harry_

←→

Draco moaned, an obscene sound of pure pleasure, as he licked a bite of tiramisu from his spoon. Harry reached down to subtly adjust himself beneath the table, his cock throbbing as he thought of all the other ways he could get Draco to make that sound. 

It was their third date and they were taking things slow—Draco's idea, of course, but Harry saw the merit in it, even if all he wanted to do right at that moment was drag Draco into bed. But when their first date—Indian takeaway in the St Mungo's cafeteria during one of Draco's brief shift breaks—went surprisingly well, and Harry realised these inconvenient feelings he had developed weren't going away, he quickly jumped on board with Draco's suggestion that they move slowly. Draco was still wary and skittish, unsure of Harry's intentions and if a relationship between them could ever work, and Harry didn't blame him. He was still coming to terms with the fact that his attraction to Draco was more than just physical desire, that he actually _liked_ Draco. So even though their chemistry thus far was undeniable—and Harry was _very_ glad that Draco clearly shared his desire—three dates in and they'd yet to even kiss.

Harry couldn't deny there was something exciting about the waiting though, the slow build-up of tension crackling beneath every glance, every word. They were still finding their legs, figuring out if there could ever be something serious between them, but Harry was fairly certain when they _did_ get to the physical part, it would be very, _very_ good. Harry hadn't ever been a patient man, but something told him Draco would be worth waiting for.

"Do you not like it?" Draco asked, and Harry blinked at him, flushing when he realised he'd been lost in his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"The tiramisu we're supposed to be sharing, do you not like it? You've barely touched it."

Harry let out a somewhat sheepish laugh as he picked up his spoon. "No, it's great! I was just… distracted. You seemed like you were enjoying it enough for the both of us." 

Draco's lips spread into a knowing grin, a little pleased, a little smug, and it made Harry's heart stutter. "I've always had quite the sweet tooth."

"I know."

Draco's eyebrows rose, and Harry flushed as he shoved a spoonful of tiramisu in his mouth. No need to get into how closely Harry watched Draco back at Hogwarts just yet. His eyes widened as he took a bite; Draco wasn't kidding, it _was_ bloody delicious.

"So," Harry said, eager to change the subject. "Have you heard about what's been happening in Ireland?"

Draco's playful expression darkened, and Harry felt like an idiot. The rumours coming over from Ireland didn't exactly make for light conversation, especially given Harry and Draco's difficult history. Lady Foley's rising popularity and her emphasis on the importance of magical power, the way her detractors seemed to disappear, the increase in hate crimes against Squibs and the magically weak, not to mention against Muggles, was all a little too reminiscent of Voldemort. It was all conjecture and hearsay at this point, rumours trickling in from not-so-far-abroad, but it still made the hairs on Harry's arms stand up. 

"Yes," Draco said grimly. "The _Prophet_ hasn't written about it, of course—they've always been quite England-centric and never ones to stick their neck out, but I subscribe to a number of European wizarding newspapers, and it doesn't look good."

"Yeah," Harry agreed glumly, absently scraping up bits of marsala-infused cream with his spoon. "We've not been properly briefed or anything, but there's a lot of buzz around the Ministry. It's not anywhere near a point where we can officially do anything or offer any kind of aid, but…"

"You think it'll get that far?"

"Don't you? I mean, I want to say no, that they would have learned from our mistakes, but for Lady Foley to have got so far…"

"No, I suspect you're right. War is almost inevitable at this point, it's just a matter of time." Draco's jaw clenched with a helpless fury Harry knew all too well. They were all still healing from their own war, and there was quite a bit left unsaid between the two of them. Harry knew they needed to have those tough conversations eventually if they ever wanted to make a proper go of things, and they'd already started making progress, but he didn't want that for tonight. Tonight he wanted to think about the future, not the past.

"All right, enough about that," Harry said briskly, smiling gently at Draco when he looked up in surprise. "There'll be plenty of time to talk about all the fucked up complicated stuff in our pasts, and in the world, but let's save that for another night, yeah?"

Draco's eyes flashed, and for a moment it looked like he might argue, but eventually he gave a jerky nod. "But we _will_ have to talk about it, Harry. All of it. This"—he waved a hand between them—"won't have a chance of working if we don't."

Harry's chest expanded, because there it was again, further proof that Draco had grown, that he was a different man, a _stronger_ one. The coward Harry had known back at Hogwarts would have gladly grasped hold of a chance to bury his past wrongdoings and pretend everything was sunshine and daisies. But this Draco understood that there was no way forward in denial.

"I know. And we will. I… I like you, Draco. A hell of a lot more than I ever thought I would. I'd like to continue getting to know you, but I know there's going to be a point where we can't move forward until we address our past. Just… not tonight. Tonight I want to get our coffees for takeaway and take the long way walking you home." 

Draco's expression softened and he gave Harry a slight, almost shy smile. "We can do that."

Draco let Harry pay on the provision that he'd cover their next date, and Harry knew he wasn't the only one feeling slightly giddy at the tacit promise that there _would_ be a next date. They got their coffees in paper cups, both with cream and Draco's with several spoonfuls of sugar, and walked quietly side by side in the cool spring night as they made their way to Draco's nearby flat.

The silence between them was strangely comfortable. Harry hadn't ever been all that keen on small talk, and it seemed Draco wasn't either, the both of them content in one another's company without the need to fill the air with nervous chatter. Just being near Draco filled Harry with a buzzing warmth, his heart leaping every time their fingertips brushed, which was frequent enough to make Harry suspect he wasn't the only one looking forward to each 'accidental' touch.

All too soon they reached Draco's doorstep, and though Harry's body was yearning to be invited up, he knew it wouldn't be happening tonight. That was all right. He felt confident that it _would_ happen, someday soon, and for now he was content with Draco's company and the memory of his indecent moan as he ate his pudding—a moan that would no doubt feature in tonight's wank session.

"Thank you for dinner," Draco said as he turned to face Harry, his eyes glowing beneath the yellow streetlights. "I had a good time." His brow furrowed and he met Harry's gaze, looking strangely vulnerable. "I don't know what it is about you, Harry Potter. My head tells me there's no way this will lead to anything but pain for the both of us, and yet…"

Harry quirked a wry smile. "I know what you mean. But something tells _me_ it'll be worth it."

Something complicated flashed in Draco's eyes—fear and hope and pleasure—and he reached out, pulling Harry in for a toe-curling kiss. His fingers slid through Harry's hair as Harry's arms wrapped around him, relishing the feeling of Draco's hard, strong body up against him. Draco's lips were soft and sure, and fuck if Draco didn't know how to kiss, deep and coaxing, easily getting Harry's mouth to open beneath him. Harry'd been kissed plenty before, but never like this, with such passion and skill, like Draco had been dreaming of kissing Harry for a long damn time and was keen to make it count. It was exhilarating, and Harry never wanted it to end.

"I hope you're right," Draco finally whispered against Harry's lips as he pulled away. And then he was gone, disappearing inside his flat without a backwards glance, leaving Harry dazed and dreamy on his doorstep.

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	3. Chapter 3

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The night was silent, eerily so. No owls hooted. No wind rustled the wild grass at the forest's edge. No crickets chirped in the distance. It was as if nature herself sensed the evil emanating from just beyond the Foley Manor wards and had decided to give it a wide berth. 

The manor butted up against a large forest, and given the natural cover it provided, they'd decided to have the majority of their strike team waiting for Foley in a secluded clearing they estimated would be her most likely point of exit. Fathi had stationed a few other groups at other possible locations around the perimeter of the manor, and Harry had provided each team leader with an updated version of the message coins Hermione had created for the DA back at Hogwarts so that they could communicate as soon as Foley and her team made an appearance. Something told Harry that _this_ would be where she'd sneak out, though, some instinct that Harry had long since learned to trust. Anticipation thrummed through him, threaded through with something darker and more primal, a hunter waiting patiently for its prey. 

Not even with Voldemort had Harry felt this kind of bone-deep hatred, this desperate, clawing need to take his foe down by any means necessary. Perhaps because Harry was older now and had already lost so much. He'd lived through his war and made his sacrifices, only for a similar evil to crop up entirely too close to home. He wanted to make Foley pay for all the havok she'd wrought, for all the lives she'd destroyed. He wanted to make her _suffer_ the way—

The wards in front of him shimmered and nine figures suddenly appeared at the edge of the forest, like a mirage solidifying. Unlike the resistance members, who were dressed in black to better blend in with the night foliage, Foley and her followers were clad in the rich jewel tones they'd become known for—Foley, it seemed, had a fondness for colour. In Harry's experience, that was somewhat of an oddity amongst Dark Lords, but at least it made it easier to differentiate the enemy from their own at a glance.

Harry turned towards Fathi, waiting for his signal even though every cell in him burned to take action, to take Foley out where she stood. They'd not been expecting so many of her followers to be present while she set up the Portkey, and it looked as if she'd brought along her best duellers. Harry's fingers twitched with anticipation. That was fine by him. He could use a good fight. After far too long cooped up in Fathi's manor, just waiting for some action, they were finally _doing_ something. It would be his pleasure to take each and every one of these bastards down. Just as soon as Fathi gave the bloody signal.

Which he should be doing any moment now, if they didn't want to risk losing Foley entirely. Harry tensed, preparing himself to move. If Fathi didn't give the go ahead soon, Harry would take matters into his own hands. He was done waiting.

Thankfully, that wasn't necessary, because a moment later Fathi's fingers twitched, and suddenly the forest was filled with shouts and the bright flash of spellwork as the resistance attacked.

Three of Foley's guard hit the ground, immediately incapacitated, but the other six, and Foley herself, were all quicker on their feet, springing into action as they ducked and shielded themselves from the onslaught. Harry jumped eagerly into the fray, calling on all his old Auror training as he worked to subdue the enemy. Foley's guard encircled her, doing their best to create a barrier while she continued trying to create a Portkey and make her escape.

Harry couldn't allow that to happen. 

This was their shot, the only one they'd had in the six months since Harry came over to fight, and he'd be damned if he let Foley slip through their hands; who knew when they'd have another opportunity like this? She needed to pay, and Harry needed this unbearable war to end, needed to get back home to Draco. Draco, who had been stretched so thin for months and months before Harry had left, more than overworked between all his hours at St Mungo's and volunteering to provide medical care for the refugees from this godforsaken war. Draco who'd _needed_ to help, even when it drained him, even when it brought back memories best left in the past and triggered night terrors that kept them both up. Draco, who Harry hadn't seen in so damn long, who Harry missed more than anything, like a piece of himself had been lopped off, leaving him aching and bereft. _Foley_ had done that. She'd taken Draco from him, she was the reason he was here, and now Harry was going to take all her power away from _her_ and show her what it felt like to be parted from something you loved more than anything else.

While Foley's guard was distracted by the rest of the resistance, Harry focused in on her, channelling all his fury, all his rage, as he cast spell after spell against the protected barrier that was shimmering around her. It was strong, but Harry was stronger, and he could sense the barrier weakening as he hit it with every spell, hex, and curse in the book. Eventually, Foley couldn't ignore him any longer, and she abandoned the crystal goblet she'd been attempting to turn into a Portkey—even her Portkeys were pretentious, no shock there—and whirled on him, her eyes flashing fire.

Harry grinned as they began to dance, the rest of the fray falling away as his vision tunnelled in on his target. Her red hair whipped around her in an invisible wind, and her skin was unnaturally pale in the moonlight. For all that she had a similar colouring to the Weasleys, she didn't remind Harry of them at all, her face and body too angular and severe, her hard eyes and cruel mouth nothing like the warmth of the Weasley features. She was a plain woman if not for the lustre of her fiery hair and the aura of power that she exuded which was impossible to ignore. Her entire platform had been built on the importance of magical strength, valuing power above all else, including precision, though she happened to have both. She was an incredibly skilled duellist, perhaps even more so than Harry, and the thought gave him a strange kind of thrill. Taking her out wouldn't be satisfying if he didn't have to work for it.

He didn't have the luxury of holding back, though, not when _she_ certainly wouldn't be. Which meant he didn't so much as feel a flicker of guilt about using some of the more unsavoury curses and hexes in his arsenal, ones he'd not learned from the Auror Department, but found in old books at Grimmauld Place. He'd spent a lot of time in the library there in the weeks before he was sent over to Ireland. He had been looking for a different sort of spell at the time, some kind of solution to a problem he'd desperately wanted to solve. Harry hadn't found the answers he'd been searching for, but he'd walked away with a whole host of new knowledge that he'd thought might come in handy while fighting a war.

He felt strangely calm as they fought, even as he deflected curses that would turn his bones to knives or explode his heart where he stood. Harry let instinct guide him, while a litany of _DRACODRACODRACO_ played on a loop in his head. Draco was why Harry was doing this, the reason why he was here. He had to make the world safe again, safe for the people he loved. Draco was his guiding star, his guardian angel.

But Draco, for all that he'd worked hard over the years to become a better person, was an imperfect guide, more inclined to see the world in shades of gray than Harry was. The Draco in his head had no problems with taking Foley out before she could hurt another soul, had no qualms with Harry playing jury, judge, and executioner. Harry might have had a problem with it, once, but things were different now, and the rage inside him was relentless and all-consuming, urging him to end this once and for all.

Their duel, heated as it was, required all of Foley's considerable focus, so when Fathi and Parvati joined the fight—while the rest of the resistance kept Foley's remaining minions preoccupied—she didn't stand a chance. The sudden presence of Harry's comrades by his side brought him back to himself, helped settle some of his fury, and reminded him that as much as he might desire otherwise, they needed to capture Foley alive. They needed her to break into her manor's wards and root out the rest of her followers, and they were all fairly certain she was the type to have a self-destruct set up in the event of her capture.

Harry tempered his approach, adjusting to account for the switch from one-on-one to three-on-one. By some unspoken agreement, Harry continued with his offensive assault, doing his best to keep her occupied and distracted while Parvati and Fathi got into position, easily deflecting the occasional spells Foley lobbed their way. It wasn't a new tactic, but it'd never made him feel so much like a third wheel before. Which was ridiculous, his role here was crucial, and the three of them worked well together. But he was used to being part of a _different_ trio, and he missed that indelible thread of knowledge and connection he'd always had with his best mates. It was almost enough to make him miss the chiding he'd have got from Hermione as he let one of Foley's hexes close enough to the singe the ends of his hair, giving Fathi and Parvati a critical few seconds to put their plan into action.

It didn't take long to finish out the fight after that, the ending sudden and rather anticlimactic. Fathi managed to incapacitate Foley with a Stunning Charm that Parvati expertly followed up with an _Incarcerous_. The two of them fought well together, their magic syncing beautifully and their movements almost choreographed, each of them anticipating the other's moves. It made Harry sad and wistful, thinking of how in tune he and Draco had been the few times they'd gone to a duelling club together.

Now that the fight was over, Harry felt empty and drained, all of the buzzing adrenaline gone in a flash. He should feel elated. They'd not only captured Foley but quite a few of her top followers to boot. With any luck this would all be over soon. Instead, Harry only felt a creeping sense of numb dread, which he tried to shake off as best he could as he listened to Fathi bark instructions on taking their prisoners back to the dungeons at his family Manor. With Foley captured there was an endless list of things to do in order to take back the Ministry and Harry didn't envy Fathi his task. He hadn't realised back when he'd been fighting his Voldemort just how much more there was to war than simply capturing the main baddie. It gave him a greater appreciation for Dumbledore and all the work he'd done, the many weights he'd had to balance and manage. It wasn't an easy job, nor a simple one, and though there'd been times when Harry had resented Dumbledore for his manipulations and secrets, he understood his task better now, that he'd done the best he could to fight for the greater good, taking responsibility for making the tough calls so that others wouldn't have to.

"Eventful night, eh?" Parvati asked after they'd finished securing the prisoners in the dungeons. She'd made some tea and passed Harry a mug, which he took gratefully.

"Can't believe it's almost over," Harry said, blowing on the steaming tea.

"Me neither. I think a part of me didn't really believe we'd catch her tonight. I'm still in shock." She didn't seem shocked, though. She seemed nervous. Worried. She nibbled her lip and took a sip of tea, avoiding Harry's gaze before tentatively venturing, "That duel between you and Foley was looking pretty intense before Fathi and I were able to join you. You looked like you wanted her dead."

Always so concerned for him. Harry tried not to clench his jaw. "Don't you?" Harry challenged. 

Parvati nodded slowly. "Fair enough. I'm just worried about you, that's all. With everything that's happened…" She trailed off and took another sip of tea, then tried again. "I know it's been hard, but I'm proud of you. Draco would be, too." 

He was frustrated that Parvati was treating him like he was a child she had to monitor, and tried to remind himself that he appreciated that she cared. "I hope he will be," Harry said softly. "Not like I can tell him about it." Parvati nodded, looking encouraging and sympathetic, though her smile grew tight and brittle as he continued, "I mean, I know the likelihood is low, especially now that we've got Foley, but we can't risk putting any sensitive information like that in our letters home. I'll have to wait until I get home to tell him."

"Listen, Harry—" Parvati began urgently, but all this talk of Draco had given Harry the urge to write to him immediately. He might not be able to tell Draco about his heroic capture, but he could talk about other things. He could tell Draco how much he missed him, how sorry he was for coming to fight this war instead of staying home. How sometimes he wondered if he'd made a mistake. He could beg for forgiveness and daydream of what it would be like to hold Draco in his arms once more. All of that sounded better than thinking about the monster they currently had locked up in the dungeons below.

"Sorry, Parvati, but would you mind if we pick this up later? The battle's left me wiped out and if I don't get some sleep now I'm worried I'll pass right out. I want to make sure I'm up tomorrow in time for the interrogations."

He didn't bother waiting for Parvati to answer, just flashed her a tired smile and turned to head up the stairs, ignoring her crestfallen expression. Harry would apologise for his rudeness tomorrow. 

Tonight, all he wanted to think about was Draco.

←→

_Dear Draco,_

_I know it hasn't escaped your notice that in all my letters I've not addressed the Nundu in the room—the fact that I'm even here in Ireland fighting another war instead of back home in Britain with you. I know you never wanted this for me, that you didn't want me to leave, didn't want me to have to keep fighting, but this was something I had to do._

_I know you're still mad, but I also know you understand, even if you wished you didn't. It would be easier, I know, if you could just hate me for leaving you and be done with it. But I've seen how hard you've worked to atone for your past and make the world a better place. And I know that you'll say I don't have anything I need to atone for, but how could I live with myself if let another Voldemort terrorise a nation while I sat safe and comfortable in our flat? I tried to find other ways to support the efforts, but I don't have fancy Healer skills to offer like you do. I was needed here, on the front lines._

_You do understand, don't you? I know we haven't really talked about it since I've left, just brushed it under the rug, but I don't want it to stand between us, festering, poisoning our inevitable reunion. (And it is inevitable, Draco, I'll see you again.) I went against your wishes, and I know how terrified you are for me, that your fear of losing me was a big part of why you didn't want me to go. That, and the pain of us being apart. Merlin, some days that pain is debilitating, and I hate myself for doing this to us, for choosing to be here in the trenches instead of warm in your arms in our bed. I'd be lying if I said there weren't nights when I'm lying in this camp bed all alone, missing you so much I can barely stand it, that I wonder if I didn't make a mistake. But morning comes, as it always does, and I know that if I were at home, I'd be plagued with similar doubts, trying to live with myself while knowing there was something I could be doing to help alleviate the suffering happening here._

_But I will make it up to you, Draco, I promise you that. Someday (soon, I hope) we'll be together again. I'll feel you in my arms, taste your lips, smell your skin. That first hug, that first kiss… fuck, it's all I can think about. Despite the sadness of being apart, thinking of you has been my solace. Even with all the distance, you're still a comfort to me. I hope I am for you, too. _

_When I get back, and the dust has settled, let's go away together, like we always talked about. As much as I miss Britain and our home (and the goldfinches, say hello for me!), being here without you has made me long for all the trips we always talked about taking and continuously put off. It was easy, back then, to think we had all the time in the world, but I don't want to keep delaying the things that bring us joy. I know it was all too easy to do between my demanding Auror schedule and you working far too much (don't argue, you know it's true) and then volunteering the rest of your spare time. Which I understand, you know I do, and it's one of the many things I love about you. But it's okay for us to take time for ourselves, to prioritise our happiness and mental health. I think a trip away together, just the two of us, sounds like bliss, don't you think?_

_You did always say you'd love to go to Fiji someday—let me take you there. You can lie on the beach looking devastatingly handsome while I slather your pale skin in sun cream so you don't burn to a crisp. I'll be the rakish cabana boy that you can order to bring you overly-sweet cocktails and erect (heh!) beach umbrellas to make sure you have enough shade. We can spend our days lounging around in the sun and our nights fucking beneath gauzy mosquito netting, and it'll be absolutely perfect._

_Or maybe it won't be. Maybe you'll burn up like a lobster on the first day and turn into an unbearable hellion the way you always do when you're in pain. I'll be frustrated over not being able to go out exploring and drink too many of those aforementioned cocktails, giving myself a sugar and alcohol hangover, because I never learn that sweet cocktails are not my friend. We'll both be stressed out over missing work because we're workaholics, the beaches will be so crowded with tourists we can't even find a spot to lie down together, and the heat will be so unbearable that neither of us will be in any mood to spend our nights fucking beneath the stupid mosquito netting that we keep getting all twisted up in. We'll be thanking our lucky stars when it's finally over and we get to go home and forget about the holiday from hell. _

_And even that nightmare scenario makes me smile, because there's nobody in the world I'd rather be miserable with than you. I'll take you bright red and bitchy over not having you at all any day of the week._

_So what do you say? Dream about Fiji with me._

_XXX  
Harry_

←→

Despite expecting the sight, Harry's heart still leapt when he walked into his bedroom and saw Draco Malfoy in his bed. He was sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, his brow furrowed as he read the newspaper spread out over his legs. The bright morning sun shone in through the open curtains, giving the whole scene a light, ethereal quality. Draco looked like an angel, not that Harry was foolish enough to tell him that. In the tree just outside the window, the family of goldfinches that had made their nest there chirped merrily, and Harry smiled as he watched the bobbing heads of the recently-hatched chicks vying for food and attention from their parents.

Something must have alerted Draco to Harry's presence in the doorway because he looked up, a soft smile dancing across his lips as he met Harry's gaze. His gaze darted down to Harry's hands and his smile brightened.

"Coffee?"

"Coffee," Harry confirmed, passing one of the steaming mugs to Draco as he climbed into bed beside him. He watched as Draco took a sip, pleasure flowing through him as Draco's lashes fluttered in satisfaction.

"Good?"

"Perfect."

Draco leaned over and brushed a kiss against Harry's cheek before passing over the sections of the paper he'd already read through. They'd been dating for over a year and had moved in together less than a month ago. It was long enough to develop lazy weekend morning routines together, but not so long that the routines didn't still fill Harry with a little thrill. For as long as Harry could remember, all Harry had wanted was a partner to share his life with, somebody who he could lean on and who could lean on him, somebody to be by his side through highs and lows and the exquisite mundanity in between. He'd never have thought he'd find that partner in Draco Malfoy, but life was funny like that sometimes.

"Did you see the front page of the _Prophet_?" Draco asked, his grim tone immediately setting Harry on edge. They generally dismissed the _Prophet_ as rubbish, preferring to read other, more reputable, papers, though they'd both maintained their subscriptions to keep a pulse on what was being said there. It was rare that either of them took it at all seriously.

"No," Harry replied, reaching for the section Draco had passed his way.

**Death Toll Climbs in Ireland as Lady Foley Amasses Power**

"Oh, fuck," Harry said as he scanned the article. 

"My thoughts exactly," Draco replied. "This is the first time the _Prophet_ has mentioned the situation in Ireland so directly and not just buried at the back of the paper.

"Which means it's become impossible to ignore. That's not a good sign for Ireland."

"No, but we already knew things were getting worse," Draco said with a grimace. "I've been working for weeks offering medical care to the refugees coming in from Ireland. There haven't been all that many so far, but the numbers are increasing."

When a local rescue agency working to help refugees escape the situation in Ireland had reached out to St Mungos, asking for Healer volunteers, Draco had been the first to offer his services. He was already working sixty hour weeks, and Harry didn't get nearly as much time with him as he wanted, but he understood how important it was to Draco that he do this. It was one of the many ways in which he tried to make amends for his past. This opportunity in particular was close to his heart given the similarities between the situation in Ireland and his history with Voldemort. 

"The Auror Department has put out some feelers, too," Harry said quietly. There'd been rumours for months, but last week they'd finally made an official announcement. They were asking for volunteer troops from the Aurors, Unspeakables, and Hit Wizards to _potentially_ send over and help out in Ireland if the situation escalated. Their Ministry had requested reinforcements from their allies, and apparently they'd finally convinced Britain to take the threat seriously. They were still working out the details, but Harry knew he wasn't the only one with the urge to go and fight. Parvati had told him in confidence that she was planning on signing up, though she wanted to get her sister's blessing first, which wasn't going well.

Harry understood that, too.

"Harry," Draco said, his voice severe and full of reproach. "Tell me you're not thinking of volunteering."

Harry took a long sip of coffee, before muttering into his mug, "I'm not _not_ thinking about it."

"Harry!"

"What? You know how bad it's getting over there! It's not exactly a surprise that I'd want to help."

Draco sighed. "Yes, I know all that. But haven't you given up enough? You've already fought in a war, you don't need to volunteer for another one." He looked down, picking at a thread in the bed sheets. "Are you… are you not happy here?"

"No!" Harry immediately protested, horrified that Draco might think that Harry was anything other than blissfully, ecstatically happy with him. "No, that's not it at all. I can't remember the last time I was so happy. That's part of what gets to me. How can I be so happy here with you, living my life practically without a care in the world, as if I'm unaware of what's happening over there, that in Ireland people are being robbed of this same happiness?"

Draco's jaw clenched. "I'm not saying we should ignore what's happening over there—I'm certainly not doing that myself. But pretending nothing's happening and going over to fight aren't the only options! There are other ways to help, to get involved. You could volunteer at the relief organisation with me if you wanted. They need more than just Healers, you know."

Harry fought back the instinctive urge to argue. He'd always been a man of action, but Draco was right, he didn't always have to be the one putting his life on the line. There were ways to help that didn't involve putting himself in physical danger, that didn't involve him leaving his life and loved ones behind.

"Yeah, that's true…" he said slowly. "I suppose I should look into that."

"I don't want to hold you back," Draco said quietly, setting his mug down on the side table and twisting to face Harry fully. "But we're together now. We've got a flat and a life and that Dittany plant Longbottom gave us as a housewarming gift. We have to make these kinds of decisions together now." He cracked a somewhat teasing smile. "You can't expect me to remember to water the Dittany all by myself, can you?"

Harry huffed out a laugh. "I know. And it's not like I'm dying to fight another war, or for us to be separated. I just feel like I _should_. I've got the skills for it, and it feels selfish not to put them to use. But maybe you're right, maybe doing something else to help out here will make me feel better."

"Come with me to the centre later today," Draco urged. "We can talk to Leslie about you volunteering. I don't want to seem like I don't get it, I do. But it's not selfish to want to live your life. You've earned it, Harry. More than anybody I know, you deserve to be happy."

"I don't know about that 'more than anybody' business, but yeah, I get it. I deserve to be happy. And so do you."

"And being with you makes me happy, so it's settled. No more talk of fucking off to Ireland without me, hmm?" Draco said, his tone light, though Harry could hear the thread of steel beneath it. But then Draco's face brightened as he grinned over at Harry. "If you want to travel so badly, we can go somewhere together. Somewhere where a war isn't being fought. Somewhere… tropical." His expression went dreamy. "Like Fiji. I've heard it's beautiful there. I've always wanted to go."

Harry knew his own expression was equally rapt as he imagined Draco lying naked and sundrenched on a dazzling white sand beach. He felt a sudden longing to be there right now, sitting beneath a swaying palm tree with Draco in his arms as they watched the sun set over a limitless ocean. 

"Fiji, eh?" he said, leaning over to press a kiss against Draco's lips. "I think I like the sound of that."

←→


	4. Chapter 4

←→

"Any progress?" Harry asked Parvati the moment she came up from the dungeons. He was sitting on the floor up against the wall across from the door that led down to the lower levels, waiting for an update. Parvati had been part of the group that was currently questioning Foley, the group that _Fathi_ had barred Harry from joining over concerns of his 'temper' and 'ability to remain level-headed', which was bullshit. Not only were they trying to gain access to the wards to Foley's manor, but they needed to find out if she had anything planned in event of her capture given how many of her followers were still at large. Over the past few years Foley and her followers had become known for their violent attacks of public places and buildings; they were worse even than Voldemort, who'd stuck mostly to isolated targets. Foley's group had hit events and high-traffic areas across Ireland, and they'd also claimed responsibility for a number of terrorist attacks in other parts of the UK as well, showing how long their reach was. 

The resistance might have cut off the head of the monster, but they didn't yet know if Foley's party was a snake or a hydra. They'd captured most of Foley's inner circle as well but not all of them, and the last thing they wanted was for one of her followers to pop up and take Foley's now-empty throne. If Foley was anything like Voldemort, she wouldn't want that either, which might work to their advantage.

Parvati grimaced in response to Harry's question and his heart sank, though he wasn't surprised that Foley hadn't given anything up. Dark Lords (and Ladies) tended to be arrogant and proud. She wouldn't bow and scrape before them, no matter what they offered her.

"Nothing yet, but Fathi's working on her."

Harry scoffed. Nothing against Fathi (well, a little against him, seeing as he had shown the poor judgement of not letting Harry in on the interrogation) but Harry didn't have high hopes. "She won't give us a thing, not willingly."

"Yeah, I know," Parvati said with a heavy sigh, sinking down the wall and sitting next to Harry on the floor. "She's too proud for that." She shuddered. "God, she's awful. I never really got all that close to Voldemort, but if he was anything like _her_ … I needed some air." 

Fuck, they needed to do something, needed to make Foley talk so that all of this could _end_. Harry turned to Parvati, frantic and pleading. "If Fathi would just let me question her, I could—"

"You could what, Harry?" Parvati asked sharply. "Lose control and do something stupid? What secret interrogation skills do you have that Fathi and the rest of his team don't? He's been doing this a lot longer than either of us have."

Harry winced, feeling the sharp sting of Parvati's rebuke like a slap. It wasn't like Parvati to be singing Fathi's praises. Most days she couldn't even admit she liked the man. "I managed just fine working as an Auror for the past several years without _losing control_ , Parvati, and I've questioned my share of witnesses. It's a little insulting that you all keep acting like I'm going to fly off the handle at any moment. What the hell are we here for if Fathi doesn't make use of us?"

Parvati chewed her lower lip and tugged at the end of her plait, her expression a mixture of worry and guilt. "I know you're a good Auror, Harry, I didn't mean to imply otherwise." She paused, clearly weighing her next words carefully. Already Harry felt a surge of anger at Parvati and the way she always seemed to be walking on eggshells around him like he was an exploding cauldron ready to go off at any moment. Did she really think so poorly of him? "Surely you can understand why Foley's different from the criminals we caught as Aurors back home. With your… history, it's only natural that it would feel more personal. Fathi's just being cautious. We need to know what Foley knows and what she has planned. We can't risk losing her."

"And what, you think I'll snap and murder her in her cell?"

This time it was Parvati's turn to wince, and Harry's stomach dropped when she didn't deny it. Apparently, that was _exactly_ what she thought. He stiffened and made to push himself up, but she reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him down.

"Not on purpose!" she cried out, her expression rumpled with guilt. "But you can't deny your magic has been a little… erratic since you came here. And when you were duelling Foley… you almost lost control. You wanted to kill her."

"Don't you?! Of course I want her dead," Harry said savagely. "She _deserves_ to die for all she's done. But I didn't kill her, did I? Even though I could have." He gave Parvati a bitter smile. "This isn't my first Dark Lord, you know. I'm _very_ well aware what can happen when you 'kill' one without having all the facts."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Parvati said, her entire body wilted with evident misery. She was normally so confident and collected; he'd never seen her such a wreck. She seemed totally lost and more than a little terrified. Of him? But no, she was grabbing hold of one of his hands and squeezing it tight, as if worried he might disappear right in front of her. "I don't know how to do this. You're my friend, the closest one I've got here, and I don't want to lose you."

"You won't, I'm right here," Harry said, confused by the turn the conversation had taken, but remembering well how wildly his emotions had swung during the war, and how terrified he'd been of losing his friends. "I swear I'm not trying to be reckless. I promised Draco I'd come home to him, after all. God, he'll kill me if he finds out about the duel—you won't tell him, will you?" 

Harry had been trying to lighten the mood, but apparently he'd missed the mark, because Parvati's eyes filled with tears. 

"Parvati? What's wrong?"

"No—Nothing," she said with a hiccup, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand and straightening her spine. "It's the stress, that’s all. It's getting to me. But we're almost finished."

"Does Fathi have a plan for getting Foley to talk?"

"He does," Parvati confirmed. "He's talking to Keating right now to get the go-ahead." Keating had been Deputy Minister before Foley had taken over. He'd gone on the run with Fathi and they'd been working together from the start. If Fathi was seeking Keating's approval, it meant his plan likely involved something of questionable legality for which Fathi would need executive approval and a promise of pardon.

"Legilimency?"

Parvati nodded. "And undisclosed Veritaserum in her tea. Fathi's… not happy about it. Says it feels dishonourable, but—" She shrugged and grimaced. "I was up half the night with him talking about various options, and we both agreed it would likely be the only course of action."

"Half the night, eh?" Harry said, nudging her with an elbow and giving her the flicker of a teasing smile. "And what did you spend the other half of the night doing?"

Her tanned skin flushed mulberry and she sputtered angrily. "What? No! It's not like that. Ugh, he's like, twice our age! And so serious. And condescending. And—and—and _Irish_."

Harry buried a smile in his shoulder. Fuck but she reminded him of himself when he'd first realised he was attracted to Draco. Well he remembered that glorious stage of denial, and seeing her and Fathi dance around each other made him sweetly nostalgic. It also hurt, an ache deep in his chest that reminded him that his own prickly other half wasn't here. It was what made the waiting so unbearable, what made Fathi's refusal to involve Harry in the questioning such a bitter pill to swallow. Keeping busy was the only way to distract himself from the empty hole in his chest that had formed the moment he and Draco had been parted. He just wanted it all to be over.

He wasn't sure how long he and Parvati sat there together outside the door to the dungeons, waiting for news. Long enough that Harry's arse went numb from forgetting to renew his Cushioning Charm. Long enough for several empty teacups to appear next to them both, drained on autopilot as they waited.

The door burst open.

Parvati and Harry leapt up in a flash, wands at the ready before realising it was only Fathi. He looked awful, his normally well-groomed hair in disarray and his skin dull and tinged with grey, completely unlike his usually warm, tawny complexion. Parvati's expression creased with concern, her first thought for Fathi (and she said there was nothing between them) while Harry's thoughts were entirely on Foley and what Fathi might have found out.

"What is it? Were you able to get any information."

"Yes," Fathi said gravely. "I was able, with no small amount of difficulty, to determine that, as we suspected, she did give her followers orders to carry out an attack should she be captured. The idea is to provide a distraction so that a secondary cell can mount a rescue mission. It's a long story, but there are spells linking Foley to her followers that will allow them access to wherever she is, regardless of the other security measures in place."

"So they're coming here?" Parvati said, her eyes wide. "When?"

"And what's she got planned for a distraction? It would have to be massive if she's hoping it'll draw the bulk of the resistance away from standing guard here."

"It is," Fathi said with a grimace. His expression grew hesitant, concerned, which was a disconcerting look on Fathi's normally severe and uncompromising face. "Listen, Harry, why don't I work with Parvati on containment for the attack. You can take charge of coordinating the efforts here to guard Foley and ensure she doesn't escape."

Harry narrowed his eyes. It wasn't like Fathi to be so accommodating, and after doing everything in his power to keep Harry away from Foley, it didn't make sense why he would suddenly be giving Harry full control over her safety. 

"Why don't you want me working the terrorist attack? It would make the most sense to have me on that team instead of here. You know I'm better at offense than defense."

"I just thought, given… I mean I know that your…" Fathi floundered, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. He exchanged a loaded look with Parvati that Harry couldn't interpret. Harry growled.

"Tell me what's going on."

Fathi sighed, apparently giving up his brief attempt at tact and going for his usual direct approach instead. "The attack, it's on the local hospital."

Blood rushed through Harry's ears and his vision went red. He understood now why Fathi had been hesitant. _Draco_ was a Healer at a hospital, tirelessly working himself to the bone to help others. That Foley would target such a place of healing and care… it was monstrous. It wasn't the first time she'd targeted the wounded, but it still shocked and appalled Harry just the same. His breath began to speed up, his limbs tingling and his head spinning. The people working in that hospital were other people's Dracos. They had friends and family, loved ones who would mourn the loss of them, that wouldn't ever be the same if they died. There would be entire worlds destroyed if the attack went off as planned.

Harry couldn't let that happen. 

"I'm working the attack," Harry said. It wasn't a question. His voice sounded strange, deadly calm when inside he was a chaotic storm of emotion.

"I don't think—"

"I don't give a damn what you think, Fathi, not in this." His voice was pure steel. "I'm going. You can't stop me. I wouldn't suggest you try."

Parvati put a hand on Fathi's arm, and he looked down at her. Harry couldn't understand the look in her eyes, the devastation, the helplessness, the weary acceptance. But he _did_ understand that whatever it was she was telling Fathi, she was backing Harry up, and he felt a rush of gratefulness to her. 

"All right," Fathi said after a long moment. His voice was rough, his eyes glistening strangely in the low hallway light. There was something oddly foreboding in his tone, a grim finality that shivered down Harry's spine but didn't alter his resolve. Fathi straightened and gestured towards the main hall. 

"Let's call the meeting."

←→

_Dear Draco,_

_Today was a bad day. One of those days where I couldn't go a single moment without something reminding me of you, or the Weasleys, or Ron and Hermione. I've got friends here, and it's rare that I'm actually alone, but today I felt so damn lonely it was all I could do not to crawl back into my camp bed and wallow in despair. That's not like me, you know it isn't, but being here… it's fucking with my head. I thought I could handle it. After all those months camping with Ron and Hermione searching for Horcruxes, knowing the fate of the war rested on my shoulders… I thought this would be a walk in the park. But back then, even with all that pressure, I was surrounded by friends and allies. Even when I was fucking walking to my death, I had my parents, and Sirius, and Remus with me. I never could have accomplished what I did without the support of my friends, without their heart and courage and cleverness to bolster and guide me. I've always known that, but I don't think I realised how empty I would feel being here without the people I love most by my side._

_I don't want to seem ungrateful, and most everybody here has been welcoming and kind, but I have these moments where I slip back to my childhood, and I feel small and abandoned. It's foolish, I know—I have plenty to eat, nobody is cruel or neglectful, and though my room here isn't much bigger than that cupboard under the stairs, everybody else is in a similar boat. But you know it was the feeling of otherness and the constant emotional isolation that was one of the worst parts of growing up the way I did. And though people here have been perfectly nice, I'm still an outsider. It's probably mostly my fault. I've been in no mood to socialise, missing you and everybody else as much as I do. I'm moody and unsociable—you'd hardly recognise me. You know I felt called to be here, but fuck if I don't resent it sometimes. It's hard to reach out and make friends when all it does is make me miss you even more, when they're all a pale echo of the relationships I've got back home._

_Fuck, I miss you. I feel like a broken record with these letters, they're just more and more of the same, but I can't help it if you're on my lonely mind more than anything else. Last night I dreamt of you, and I almost cried when I woke up and realised it was just a dream. And yes, it was one of those dreams. Of course it was! It's been over six months since the last time we made love, over six months since I've had anything but my own hands to comfort me. Though for all of my talk, even those haven't got much use since I came here. Maybe it's your absence, or being surrounded by war and suffering, but my libido has taken quite the nosedive. I don't mind, really. I'm almost grateful, seeing as how you're not around to help satisfy it. Though every once in a while, like last night in that glorious dream, I indulge myself in fantasy. Not even fantasy, really, but memory: the feeling of you thrusting inside me, the hot warmth of your mouth on my cock, the slick slide of our sweat-soaked skin as we writhe together. _

_And Merlin, Draco, your arse. Fuck, I can't let myself think about it too often because once I do, I can't stop, it bloody drives me to distraction. Even now, thousands of miles away, when it's not even in my direct line of vision!_

_But fuck, how I love it._

_I love how soft it is, with that fine layer of almost-invisible peach fuzz covering your flawlessly smooth skin._

_I love its plump roundness, almost unexpected given how slim the rest of you is, the best kind of surprise hiding beneath your expertly tailored robes. Firm muscle with a perfect layer of cushioning that dimples around my fingers when I squeeze it. I've always appreciated a nice arse, but it never drove me to obsession until you and your perfect bottom came back into my life._

_I love the curve of it, the way the strong, sleek lines of your back flare out into a pleasing swell of flesh, and I love that cup-able jut where bum meets thighs. Just begging to be grabbed hold of when we kiss so I can pull you flush against me._

_I love how perfectly the globes fit in my palms when you're lying on your stomach, all spread out in front of me, and how easily they part to reveal that dark and hidden spot only I get to see. Such a tiny, vulnerable place, and I love how much you trust me, what it means that you give me that, that you let me see this part of you._

_I love how much richer and muskier your scent is there, and how your skin looks and feels so different from the rest of your body, a foreign land._

_I love your wrinkled arsehole, I do. It's the prettiest arsehole I've ever seen, but I'd expect nothing less from you. I love the way it eases and relaxes beneath my mouth and fingers every fucking time, how you flutter and spasm before inevitably unfurling for me, my own little flower. _

_And I love the way your arse feels around my cock, how perfectly we fit together, like we were made to bring each other pleasure._

_I love the way your rim looks wrapped snug around my prick, the alluring contrast of my flushed cock nestled between your pale, perfect arse cheeks. I love the satisfying slap and quiver of flesh as I thrust my hips, the way your globes jiggle so temptingly with each impact. And fuck, I love coming inside you, how nothing in the world feels as good as finding release in your gripping heat. _

_I love those first few moments after I ease out, the way the memory of my cock seems to linger in the loose elasticity of your arsehole. How desperate we both are for me to be back inside you from the moment I pull out. I love the way it looks after, too, the slight puffiness and redness of the rim after you've begged me to fuck you harder, the slow trickle of my seed dripping sticky and white. I love the way lube and come mix together, a slick and claiming sheen that coats your arse cheeks and thighs. I love the way your skin marks up so easily (I know you like it too), love seeing finger-shaped bruises and red hand prints on your arse and hips, telling anybody who might catch a glimpse that your arse is mine. Because you've given yourself to me, the way I've given myself to you. A part of me feels ashamed of my possessiveness, but you've made it clear too many times how much you like it for me to feel too guilty about it—besides, you're even worse with your almost-vampiric obsession with marking up my neck. I can't help but take pleasure in that, too, knowing how much we love claiming one another._

_Bah! I told you I'd be sending you poetry! Although I bet you didn't think it would be an ode to your arse, now did you? But an arse like yours deserves no less, I'm certain you'll agree, so you can't ridicule me too much for it. If you'd like to write me a sonnet about my arse, please feel free. It's not nearly so deserving, but you've always seemed to appreciate it. It's certainly always appreciated you._

_Okay, okay, I've embarrassed you enough for now, so I'll say goodbye. I never know how to end these letters, because I never want them to end. I want to carry you with me always, send you a constant stream of consciousness so it's almost like we're together again. But all things, even letters, must come to an end. And what are endings, anyways, but new beginnings? The sooner I finish this letter, the sooner I can begin the next._

_I love you. Thinking of you always,_

_Harry_

←→

Harry could tell that Draco wasn't happy with him.

He'd been mostly silent during their walk home from the pub, and it was obvious something was weighing heavily on his mind. He'd seemed fine at the beginning of the night, and _more_ than fine before they left for the pub when Harry had blown him in the shower. But as the evening wore on, and talk turned more and more towards what was happening in Ireland, Draco had grown more quiet. Then again, he was never particularly boisterous and he always appeared more shy than he truly was whenever he was around Harry's rowdy group of friends, preferring to observe the chaos rather than jump into the fray. Harry was grateful that most of his mates had made a genuine effort to get to know Draco and include him in conversation, but he understood why they weren't all quite as comfortable together as Harry wished they'd be. 

Still, they all had had fun tonight, even with such heavy thoughts weighing on their minds. Things were getting worse in Ireland. Lady Foley had staged a coup of sorts, overthrowing the government and establishing her own dictatorial regime. She'd had several outspoken political rivals executed for treason, and had attempted to do the same for the Deputy Minister and the previous Head of the Auror Department; thus far they'd managed to evade capture and were continuing on in their resistance efforts, though now in a less official capacity. Parvati had announced tonight that she'd finally jumped through all of the hoops necessary to go over and help fight. She'd be leaving in less than a week, and Harry knew he hadn't managed to conceal his desire to join her, to do something more tangible.

"Thanks for coming out tonight," Harry told Draco as they made their way into their flat and up the stairs to their bedroom. "I know you've got a full plate right now and you have to be knackered, but it means a lot when you join us."

Draco's sigh contained multitudes that Harry couldn't possibly parse out.

"Of course. It's good for me to get out every once in a while and become better acquainted with your friends."

"But?" Harry could tell there was something Draco was leaving unsaid and he'd rather just have it out already.

Draco's jaw tightened as he began stripping off his robes. "But you didn't tell me Parvati had officially decided to volunteer to go over to Ireland. And don't think I missed how jealous you were when she said she'd finished the last of the paperwork and would be leaving soon."

Harry growled, helpless frustration churning in his gut. "You know how I feel about it, Draco. You know I want to be over there fighting, making a difference!"

"You can make a difference here!"

" _You_ can make a difference here. I…" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I get that fundraising is important, but it doesn't feel _real_."

"But it _is_ real, Harry, don't you get that? Using your fame to garner support and donations might not be exciting or glamorous, it might even be uncomfortable, but in the end, so much comes back to money." He gave a bitter laugh as he tugged at the buttons on his shirt. "Trust me, I grew up with money, I know. Yes, the work that they're doing right now over in Ireland is important and necessary, but they also need funding, and they'll continue to need it after the war is over and they need to rebuild."

Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, but Draco barrelled on, "And that's not _all_ they need. Even more than money, what they really need is a shift in ideology. They need people to continue to do the hard and unseen work for years to come so that they don't have another uprising and a bloody repeat of history. Hell, we still need that here." He gestured furiously as he paced, the Dark Mark on his arm standing in sharp relief against his pale skin. "It took less than twenty years for Voldemort to regain power and restart the same fucking war with the same exact principles in the same fucking country! And he was able to do that because we let him! Our culture and society was built on the idea of blood purity and magical power, and people like me and my family were still here and ready to take up the cause the moment Voldemort came back. The people opposed to him the first time around were content with his death, as if he was just one bad egg and with him gone they could go back to the status quo, as if the status quo wasn't what allowed Voldemort to gain power in the first place."

Harry stared at Draco with wide eyes, shocked by his passion and agitation. They'd talked about the war extensively, had rehashed every moment, brought every ugly truth to light until there wasn't a secret between them. Harry knew how much Draco had changed, how deeply he'd looked inside of himself, how far down he'd reached to pull out the very roots of his prejudice. It wasn't perfect, or complete; it was something he worked at every day, combating the bias he'd been raised with. But Harry hadn't ever heard of him speak like this, of the role the greater wizarding world and society had played in creating the kind of environment that allowed somebody like Voldemort to grow and thrive. Voldemort hadn't existed in a vacuum. In many ways, he was a reflection of the darker underpinnings of wizarding society, an unwelcome mirror that exaggerated and distorted the prejudice that existed in the hearts of all witches and wizards.

"If we want to prevent this same thing from happening over and over again, here or abroad," Draco continued, his face flushed with the force of his conviction, "Then we need to change people's minds, we need to change who's in charge, and we need to restructure." He turned to Harry, his eyes blazing. "There is no shortage of things you could be doing to help make things better, especially with your level of fame and influence. People love you, they _listen_ to you. It's hard work, and it's not fun or exciting, but it doesn't mean it's any less valuable or important."

Harry couldn't help himself; he walked up to Draco and gave him a hard, passionate kiss. God, he was so in love with Draco he could hardly stand it. He was so smart, and courageous, and fucking _brilliant_. All that time at Hogwarts, there was this amazing person buried inside that scared, self-important boy, a person that never would have been able to grow and flourish if not for the harsh realities the war had brought. The war had wrought so much devastation, but Harry was so fucking grateful that it had been the catalyst that burned Draco's old world to the ground so his best self could emerge like a phoenix from the ashes.

"You're right, Draco, you're so fucking right, and I don't mean to imply that it isn't important or necessary. You know I've been helping Hermione with a lot of that here, and I'm not above using my influence to help, but I'm not built for that kind of activism, Draco, not long term. I hate it, and I'm not good at it. But fighting… that I know how to do. I'm meant to be out on the front lines."

"I get that it's hard for you, Harry," Draco said, resting his forehead against Harry's and closing his eyes wearily. "We all have different strengths, and I know you'd be happier helping out somewhere where you could see the more tangible and direct benefits of your actions." He pulled back and gave Harry a wry smile. "You've always been a hands-on kind of bloke." Harry gave a weak chuckle, and Draco pulled away, running a hand through his hair and mussing the fine strands, his expression tormented. "I'm the reason why you've not already signed up to fight, and I know it makes me terrible and selfish and probably a massive hypocrite, but I don't think I could bear it, Harry, I really don't." He looked at Harry, his expression pleading, as if begging him for understanding, for forgiveness. "I've tried to convince myself that I could survive it, that _we_ could survive it, but it's already hard enough with you being an Auror, every day wondering if the next time you show up at St Mungo's it'll be for something we can't fix…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together and looking away as he blinked furiously. When he continued, his voice was rough. "Having you go off into a war zone in another country… maybe it makes me an awful person, but I just don't think I can live with that kind of fear and uncertainty. I… I don't want that kind of life for myself, and I don't want to pretend that I could deal with it just to make you happy." 

Harry's heart was in his throat and he swallowed around the lump. He didn't want to make Draco miserable, he never wanted that. He reached out and tugged Draco back into his arms. "I—You're not a bad person, Draco, you're just being honest. And it's not an outlandish request to make of your partner, it's just hard. At least you're able to utilise your expertise by helping dole out medical care, and you're actually able to see the results of your contributions. I'm not good at the administrative, behind-the-scenes stuff, and I hate the gladhanding. I know it's important, and intellectually I know that it _is_ helping, that I'm making a difference. But I don't feel it here." He placed Draco's hand over his heart.

"I understand that, I do, Harry—you know how important it's been for me to choose the right side of the war this time around, and if going over and fighting had been the only way for me to do that, I'd be there right now." He scrunched his nose and gnawed on his lip, a sure sign he was thinking something out. "Maybe we can try and find other ways for you to get involved that would feel more productive and tangible but don't require you being out on the front lines." He hesitated. "You know, my expertise would be valued just as much in a war zone…" Harry winced at the thought of Draco going over there, putting himself at _risk_ , and Draco gave him a significant look. "Exactly. It's dangerous. If you feel you need to go, then maybe we could look into going together." It was clear he wasn't thrilled about the idea and frankly, neither was Harry. He couldn't stand the thought of Draco putting himself directly in harm's way, and his expression must have said so, because Draco gave him a look that very clearly said, _feeling a little hypocritical?_ which Harry was. "Or," Draco continued, "we can both make a difference here. Where it's safe."

Harry got where Draco was coming from, long-distance relationships were difficult enough without the added element of Draco constantly fearing for Harry's life. The two of them signing up together would eliminate the long-distance aspect, but it would add in combined danger for them both. Harry might be able to live with that—it would hardly be the first time he feared for his loved ones' safety—if it weren't for the fact that he knew Draco would be miserable. Draco had committed himself to being a better person and fighting for what was right, but he wasn't the kind of person to put himself in constant danger. He might do well under pressure, but being under continual threat was a different matter entirely. Asking Draco to put himself in a situation where he'd constantly be battling his instincts to do whatever he needed in order to escape the situation wasn't what Harry wanted. He didn't want Draco to survive, he wanted him to thrive.

"Okay," Harry said, nuzzling his nose briefly into Draco's soft hair before stepping back and pulling off his shirt. Their discussion had interrupted their preparations for bed, but Harry was ready to be out of his clothes for the day. "I can't promise I won't still feel the urge to go over there, but I _can_ promise that you'll always come first for me, Draco. I wouldn't ever do something like go off to war without talking things through with you and coming to some kind of agreement beforehand."

The last thing in the world Harry wanted to do was hurt Draco, and he had to admit, fucking off to fight abroad would certainly put a crimp in his upcoming plans. He thought of the ring currently burning a hole through the top drawer of his desk at work, and the reservation he'd just made a few months from now at Draco's favourite restaurant. He'd ask now, tonight, but he thought popping the question on the two-year anniversary of Harry ending up in Draco's examination room for the very first time had a nice kind of symmetry to it. Draco was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and Harry wanted to make it official, to unequivocally claim Draco as his own in front of the word. It wouldn't be the most auspicious start to their life together if Harry were to propose right before leaving for a dangerous volunteer mission he might not come back from.

"I can live with that," Draco said, stepping close and running his hands appreciatively over Harry's bare chest. "It's just… against all odds—our history, your fame, my infamy, my family and upbringing, _your_ family and upbringing—we found each other. I never could have imagined this, that we'd make such a good partnership. After the war… well, I didn't think I'd ever be worthy of _anybody_ , had all but resigned myself to being alone." He looked at Harry, his eyes so clear and grey, piercing straight into Harry's soul. "And that it's _you_ who I've found this happiness with… Now that I've got you, I don't want to give you up, not for a second, not if there's any other option. I know it's selfish, wanting to keep you for myself, but I can't help it. The thought of losing you makes me crazy."

"Yeah," Harry breathed, his skin growing warm as Draco trailed his fingers over Harry's body, looking into his eyes with love and heat. "I don't want to lose you either, Draco. I _love_ you. I know I don't always show it, but you come first for me, always."

"You show it just fine," Draco replied, his voice husky, before drawing Harry into a toe curling kiss. 

This. This is what Harry had to remember when the itch to go out and blow shit up for the greater good got under his skin. The feeling of Draco in his arms, the taste of the lips, the way Draco made him feel strong and safe, protector and protected all at once. Draco was right; it was a miracle that they'd found each other, that they'd been able to work through all of their differences and grow into something so beautiful together. Harry didn't want to give it up, not for anything, and if that made them selfish, then at least they had one another for company.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Harry groaned as he urged Draco back towards their bed, tearing off the rest of his clothes while Draco did the same. 

"So do you," Draco replied as he pulled Harry down on top of him on their ridiculously comfortable mattress. He scratched his fingers along Harry's scalp in that way that always made Harry's cock twitch while arching temptingly beneath him. 

"What do you want?" Harry asked in between kisses as they rocked together, hard cocks catching and sliding in the most delightful ways. Tonight, Harry wanted it all to be about Draco, wanted to spoil him and give him whatever he wanted.

Draco hummed thoughtfully, wriggling beneath Harry as his large hands slid down Harry's back to squeeze his bum.

"Is that what you want?" Harry murmured into Draco's skin. "Want to fuck me?"

Draco shook his head and spread his legs a bit wider so that Harry could settle more firmly between them.

"Maybe later," Draco replied. "As much as I love fucking your arse, right now I want you inside me. Want you to fuck me just like this."

Harry shuddered and kissed Draco hard, very much on board with Draco's plan. He loved all the things they did together in bed, and though he couldn't deny he had a particular fondness for losing his mind on Draco's cock, there was something about fucking Draco that always undid him. Maybe because he knew how much it meant for Draco, who hated being vulnerable, to open himself up to Harry in that way. Maybe because there was something undeniably powerful about reducing his beautifully controlled lover into a quivering mess of desire. It was a gift that Draco trusted him so much, one that never failed to fill Harry with awe and gratefulness. 

Harry reached for his wand, Conjuring a palmful of lube and reaching down between them to pet Draco's hole. Something about the unique feeling of that wrinkled rim always ramped up Harry's lust even more, and he slowly eased a finger inside, relishing the tight heat. He knew Draco enjoyed the stretch of being fucked open, so Harry didn't spend too much time fingering him, just long enough to get him slick.

"Ready?" he asked as he slid his fingers out and covered his cock with the rest of the lube.

Draco's eyes were already glazed over with lust, but he still managed a confident quirk of his lips, that same cocksure smile that always made Harry's stomach do flips.

"Always," Draco replied, spreading himself out luxuriously on the bed sheets, his body a decadent fruit, ripe for the picking.

Harry didn't bother drawing things out, they were both too far gone for that. He nestled the rounded head of his cock into the cleft of Draco's arse, feeling around for his arsehole before pressing steadily inside as he stared into Draco's eyes. This was one of his favourite parts of fucking Draco, if he had to choose. Harry loved watching his expressive face when Harry first pressed inside, observing his micro-expressions as Harry sank all the way in, filling Draco up. It was all there, the pain and pleasure, the overwhelming intensity of being so full, the trust and the love as Draco opened himself up to Harry. It was beautiful, and humbling; it made Harry want to offer Draco the world.

For now, he settled for offering Draco a mind-blowing fuck, screwing into him with the hard, deep strokes that he knew Draco preferred. Draco let out a series of gratifying moans in response, wrapping his arms and legs around Harry as he urged Harry down for another kiss. It was messy and wet, more a bumping of mouths than a proper snog, the both of them more focused on the pleasure of Harry thrusting in and out of Draco's body.

Far too soon Harry felt his orgasm peaking, the familiar tingling radiating out from his groin as the pleasure inside him reached a fever pitch. He wanted Draco to come first, so he braced himself by Draco's head with one arm and reached down between them with the other, taking Draco's hot, hard cock in hand. His shaft was soaked with precome, providing the perfect amount of slip as Harry gripped him hard and stripped him fast, just the way Draco liked it. Draco let out the familiar little hiccuping gasp he always made before he came and moments later he was spilling all over Harry's fist.

As close as Harry was himself, the extra stimulation from Draco clenching around him was enough to put him over the edge. He came deep inside Draco's arse, burying his face in Draco's neck as he trembled through his climax. Draco held him through it, his own body clenching and releasing as he worked through the aftershocks.

"How could I ever give this up?" Harry asked after he'd somewhat recovered, brushing a kiss across Draco's sweaty forehead as he eased out and reached for his wand to clean them off.

Draco's smile was beatific as he snuggled into the bedsheets, freshly clean. "I'm glad we're in agreement. Now that you've got me used to a regular dicking, it would be cruel of you to deprive me."

Harry snorted and settled into the bed next to Draco. Draco tugged and Harry let his body be manipulated until he was lying on his side with Draco's body plastered against him, his chest hot against Harry's bare back. Harry sighed happily; he loved being the little spoon.

"I like waking up with you in my arms," Draco whispered into Harry's hair. "I want to have that for a very long time."

"Me too," Harry replied, pulling Draco's arm more firmly across him as he thought once more of the ring in his desk, just waiting to be slid onto Draco's finger. "Me too."

←→


	5. Chapter 5

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The world around Harry had devolved into chaos.

The resistance had managed to determine the where of the attack—Leigheas Hospital of Magical Healing Arts—but there was no way to know _when_ it would happen, as Foley hadn't given her followers a specific timeline. It made preventing the attack an almost impossibility, as it was critical they not make any obvious moves that would let Foley's followers know they were on to them. They'd lose their chance at capturing the last of her people, and could possibly cause them to divert their attack to an entirely new location, one they couldn't manage as easily. They worked with hospital administration to shore up defenses and covertly reduce the number of patients and staff on site, but it _was_ a hospital and they still had to treat patients. 

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing—it meant there were enough bodies around so as not to alert Foley's followers that the resistance knew their plans, but that didn't make any of them feel any better about it. Harry in particular felt like he was crawling out of his skin knowing that they were using innocent people as bait. All he could think about was what would happen if any of them should die, and how their families would feel if they found out that the resistance had known about the attack and had decided their loved ones' lives were worth the sacrifice. Harry was no stranger to the tough choices one sometimes had to make in war, but it didn't make that bitter pill any easier to swallow.

They'd stationed undercover agents throughout the hospital around the clock and had a number of alarms set in place to notify everybody on the strike team when Foley's followers arrived. And then they waited.

They didn't have to wait long.

Two days later, on an incongruously sunny afternoon, Foley's team struck. The alarm blared throughout Fathi's manor and adrenaline flooded Harry's system as he Apparated straight to the scene, not bothering to check in with any of the others. They all knew the plan; he'd see them there.

It looked like several of their defenses were holding up under the onslaught; a cluster of brightly-robed wizards blasted the silvery dome of protection surrounding the hospital in an attempt to weaken it. Judging from the screams coming from inside, and the smoke pouring from several open windows, something or someone had already made it in. Harry swore. This wouldn't be the first time Foley had used explosive charms and spells, sometimes even sacrificing her own people, in order to inflict maximum damage.

His fingers twitched towards his wand with the desire to curse the wizards currently trying to bring down the shield, but as much as he wanted a good fight, his first priority was getting everybody out of the hospital safely. The operatives inside had their plans for evacuation, as did the lead Healers on every floor, but some of the patients would need extra assistance, and Harry knew they could use some extra hands, especially if there were Dark witches and wizards loose inside. Other members of the resistance had already arrived and had begun duelling with Foley's disciples, and he trusted them to manage the situation. He was certain there were more inside, attacking people who were vulnerable.

Harry had to rescue them. He couldn't let another person die, not if there was a chance he could save them.

He was panicked and desperate as he burst through the doors, his mind so far from the deadly focus he'd felt when he'd been duelling Foley. Then, he'd been channelling his anger into one single purpose, intent on his task to destroy; saving people was so much harder than hurting them. He'd failed so many people in his lifetime, people who'd cared for him, trusted him, depended on him to protect them. The weight of those losses pressed down on him as he rushed through the corridors, checking each room for survivors who'd been left behind. He knew saving others wouldn't make up for the people he'd failed to protect, but maybe it would ease the burden. Maybe it would make it possible to bear. 

The walls around him were cracked and charred, little fires burning and beginning to grow and spread. He hadn't seen another person yet, dead or alive, but he could hear panicked shouts echoing down the halls, letting him know there were still people inside. He ran towards the sound, his heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his ears. Time and space seemed to warp around him as he ran, the walls around him shifting and blurring, interposed with snapshots of a different ruined building from what felt like a lifetime ago. Anguish out of place with this current moment enveloped him, threatening to bring him to his knees, but he fought his way through it, forcing it down deep inside where it belonged. There was too much at stake to get lost in memory.

A faint whimper caught his ear and brought him to a stop. He could still hear the frantic shouting up ahead, the sound of a battle, and of somebody leading others to an exit, perhaps. It seemed as if whoever was helping to evacuate had already swept through this corridor, but there it was again, that sniffling cry. Harry cautiously made his way towards the only door that wasn't thrown entirely open. 

"Hello," he called out. "Is anybody there?" No response, but then again, Harry wouldn't reply either, not without knowing if the person calling out was friend or foe. "I'm with the resistance, I'm trying to make sure everybody gets out of the building safely."

There was rustling from within, a whimper and a shushing sound, and then a young face edged around the door, looking wary and defensive. The girl couldn't have been older than fifteen, her dark gold hair tied up in a hasty bun, a wand in one hand and the other pressed protectively out to her side, as if keeping somebody back and away from the open door. Harry put his hands up in a calming gesture, though he didn't let go of his wand; he needed it to be accessible should they be attacked.

"Hey," he said, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. "My name's Harry. Lady Foley's attacked this hospital and the resistance is working to bring the bad guys in. I'm here to help get everybody out safely. What's your name?"

"I'm Cara," she said, her voice wavering with bravado. A movement behind her legs caught Harry's attention, a flicker of white-blond hair rustling behind her knees. Harry's heart clenched. 

"And who have you got with you, Cara?"

She hesitated, but it seemed she'd decided to trust Harry. "This is my brother, Sean," she said, sounding frantic. "He's only three and hates crowds. I couldn't get him to leave when the Healers were ushering everybody out." He peeked out from behind her legs, his round face wet with tears. There was a bandage wrapped around one pudgy little arm.

"He got into our greenhouse," Cara explained, as if worried about what Harry might be thinking about the bandage. "Got into some plants he shouldn't have and broke out in boils, s'why we're here. My parents had to step out so I offered to stay with him while the Healers—" A large cracking sound echoed through the corridor, like the sound of a beam giving way. While they'd been speaking the fires around them had become much larger, and Harry realised that the damage to the building was much worse than he'd originally thought. They needed to get out of there. _Now_.

"That's all right, it's okay. I'm going to get you both out, okay? One of us is going to need to carry Sean, though."

"I'll do it," she said immediately, bending down to scoop him into her arms. "I've got him."

It would be easier for Harry to carry the boy, but he understood why Cara felt she needed to do it. He stared at them for a moment, his heart beating strangely. With his towheaded locks, ones that would inevitably deepen with age as Cara's no doubt had, it wasn't difficult for Harry to see a young Draco in the sweet boy's face. Draco as he might have been at three years old, or perhaps Draco's child, the one he'd sometimes speak about in an abstract way, the one he so obviously wanted someday but didn't quite feel deserving of. He and Draco had talked often of their future together and what they wanted. They'd discussed someday getting married and maybe, when they were ready, having children through adoption or surrogacy. The possibility alone had always filled Draco with a wild-eyed sort of panic, mixed with a naked longing that had always made Harry's heart ache. Draco struggled with the idea of being a father, terrified he'd do as bad a job of it as Lucius, but Harry hadn't had that same fear. Harry knew Draco would make a brilliant dad, and the thought of raising a family with Draco had always filled him with a quiet, steady warmth. It had felt _right_ , the way that nothing seemed to these days, now that Harry was surrounded by death and chaos.

A pang of loss and longing went through him, but those were more emotions he couldn't entertain right now. He needed to get these children to safety; everything else could wait.

"All right, this way," Harry said, shaking off the despair trying to choke him as he took off down the corridor. He'd made extensive study of the hospital's floorplans over the past several days and he knew where the closest exit was. Hopefully the way would be clear, as the air was already growing uncomfortably warm as smoke began to fill the hallways. He could hear Cara following behind him, her breaths slightly laboured as Sean whimpered in her arms. He wanted to turn and offer his assistance, but he knew she'd rebuff any attempts to take Sean from her, no matter how heavy the boy got; it wasn't worth the wasted time, not when they had so little of it left. He did cast a few charms to clear the air of smoke, hoping to make breathing a little easier. Unfortunately, given how fast they were moving, the charms weren't useful for long before he needed to cast another, and casting spell after spell was a drain on his magic when he needed to stay sharp in case something bigger and nastier came at them.

The walls around them creaked and groaned ominously as they made it to a stairwell. Harry opened the metal door with a clang and ushered Cara and her brother through before taking the lead once more. The hospital was set onto a hill, so the entrance that Harry had come in through was technically three stories up. Harry already knew there was fighting there and he was hoping that the ground floor entrance might be less occupied—their battle plans had involved several members of the resistance taking that entrance as their primary task, and he had to pray they'd been successful. 

Unfortunately, as they made their way down the stairs and came out onto the main floor, it was clear that the reception area was one of the locations Foley's followers had targeted. They were hit with a sudden wave of heat as Harry pushed open the door, and Harry pulled Cara down to the ground, getting them beneath the thick cloud of smoke and ash that hovered in the burning air. There was a tipped-over supply cart next to them, and Harry grabbed a slightly singed bedsheet, severing it into squares and doused each with an _Aguamenti_ before tying them around Cara and Sean's faces, then doing the same for himself. He tried a spell to clear the air, but it barely lasted a second beneath the constant onslaught of smoke.

"All right, Sean," Harry said to the boy, who was crying and hiccuping as he clung to his sister. "I need you to keep your eyes closed for me, okay? So the smoke doesn't sting them." Harry's eyes were already watering, and there were gritty tear tracks sliding down Cara's sooty cheeks. Sean looked to his big sister and she nodded encouragingly. He screwed his eyes shut and buried his face against her shoulder. A lump formed in Harry's throat and he looked away.

Something crashed across the room, sending a cascade of bright sparks flying up into the air. It was difficult to see through the smog, but it sounded like there might still be people fighting. Harry wasn't sure if he was imaging the flash of coloured spells in the distance or if it was just the light catching strangely on a stray spark of flame.

"Okay, Cara, get ready. Do you see that hazy ball of light way across the foyer?" He gestured to the white halo of smoke and she nodded. "That's the exit. We're going to make a break for it." She looked nervously up at the ceiling, which was looking increasingly unstable, but there wasn't much for it. "I'm going to provide cover for you and Sean, and I want you to just focus on getting there as quickly as you can, all right? Keep low. We don't know yet what's on the other side of those doors, but we've gotta get out of this building. Wait for me before you go through."

She nodded, looking terrified but resolute. He wondered if she'd gone to Hogwarts, if she'd been sorted into Gryffindor.

"Go!" he shouted, and she dashed off, Sean held securely in her arms, his head buried in her neck as she dodged through the fiery obstacle course that was once the hospital's entrance hall. Harry flanked her, tossing up a Shield Charm when something exploded nearby, sending molten hospital cart hurtling towards them, and doing his best to clear their path. The air began to clear somewhat as they neared the door, which Harry realised was open. Shadowy figures emerged from the smoke, clearly guarding the entrance, and Harry felt a spasm of terror before recognition set in.

"Imogen!" he called out, drawing her eye and her wand before she realised it was him. Her gaze quickly travelled to Cara and her brother, and she snapped into action, yelling something in Gaelic outside. One of the younger members of the resistance—Neil? Niall?—popped up by the door, clearly on point to escort Cara to wherever they were taking civilians. Harry turned to face her.

"All right?" Cara nodded, hope beginning to crack through the fissures of her shaky façade now that they were so close to freedom. "Good, you're safe now. Take your brother and follow that young man over there. He'll protect you."

"Thank you," she said fervently before following the boy out into the sunlight. It was so bright outside that it hurt Harry's eyes and he turned away, back towards the ruined hospital.

"What's the word?" he asked Imogen as he joined her at the door, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"As far as I can tell, we've got control of all the entrances," Imogen said brusquely. "We have two dozen of Foley's followers in custody, and suspect another six are still at large inside. Gemma and Logan were tracking several of them on our end, and I know we've got others inside as well. Most of the patients and hospital staff have been evacuated, but there are still a few unaccounted for." She grimaced, her voice low and pained. "We miscalculated how big an attack this would be."

"Yeah," Harry agreed grimly, a heavy dose of guilt joining in the riot of unpleasant emotions wreaking havoc on his insides. "Have we heard from Fathi in regards to the rescue attempt back at the Manor?"

"That's one good thing at least. They're fairly certain they managed to capture all of the people who came to break Foley out. We'd assumed they'd split their force more evenly between the distraction and the rescue mission, but the bulk of her base came here to provide a bigger distraction—made it easier for Fathi and the others at the Manor to nab them, but we weren't prepared for the level of devastation here." She shuddered, grief deepening the lines in her face as she wiped a dirty palm across her damp cheek. "It would have been so much worse without our preparations, but…"

"Do we have a death count yet?" 

She shook her head. "At least two dozen unaccounted for. Three confirmed deaths so far."

Helpless anger and despair welled up inside of Harry, threatening to choke him even worse than the smoke filling his lungs. Hadn't they all suffered enough? Hadn't _Harry_ suffered enough? Was he doomed to bring death with him wherever he went, leaving a path of devastation in his wake? 

"I'm going back in," Harry said, knowing he couldn't just stand there watching guard doing _nothing_.

"Harry," Imogen said, her tone wary. "Parvati told me to keep an eye on you… she seemed to think you might do something reckless."

Harry bristled. "We don't need both of us manning this entrance, and I'm one of the best offensive fighters we've got. Tell me it doesn't make sense for me to go in there. We both know there are innocents still inside, possibly being terrorised right this moment, and I can help stop it. I'm going in."

Imogen nodded. Harry was sure that if Parvati had been there she would have fought him, would have had more to say, but Imogen didn't know Harry as well as Parvati did, and this was _her_ home that was being destroyed. She wanted this war over with even more than Harry did.

"Be careful," she said, and Harry was off, disappearing back into the smoky, perilous hospital. 

In the not-even-five-minutes he'd been by the entrance, the integrity of the building seemed to have further disintegrated. Fires popped and crackled everywhere as the walls moaned ominously. He did his best to ignore it as he checked the rooms and made his way further inside. It was difficult to hear anything specific in the din, but eventually sounds began to isolate themselves: shouted spells, jeering taunts, and there, up ahead, the bright flash of spell work. 

Harry crept forward as inconspicuously as he could. Six of Foley's followers were duelling it out with three members of the resistance, though Harry couldn't tell who they were through the smoke. They were outnumbered and fighting against a foe who had nothing to lose, a dangerous combination. Harry gave himself just a moment to get a lay of the land and then he jumped into the fray, his anger coalescing into a singular instinct: to destroy.

He took down one of the wizards before he had a chance to know what hit him and then moved on to the next, not holding anything back. Much like his duel with Foley, the spells Harry used weren't strictly sporting, but Harry was past caring about that. These people had attacked a _hospital_ , purposefully targeting the injured and sick, innocents that were the most vulnerable and least likely to fight back and protect themselves, and the dedicated witches and wizards who cared for them. It was horrifying, and they had to pay for what they'd done. For what they'd taken from him.

One down, then two, and Harry was working on the third while his allies duelled the others. Harry could vaguely hear the sound of sobbing and screams, and he wondered if the resistance had been escorting more civilians out when they'd been attacked, or if the anguished sounds were all in his head, echoes of past battles that wouldn't ever truly leave him. Either way, the sound only fuelled his inner fire, pushing him harder. Nothing existed beyond this moment, beyond the throbbing call for vengeance pulsing through him with each fevered beat of his heart.

Harry didn't see the Blasting Hex coming until it was too late.

It was almost like an out of body experience, some separate, cooly analytical part of his mind noting that Imogen had miscalculated how many baddies were still loose, because Harry had not counted on a seventh wizard popping into the fight. There was a shouted " _Confringo!_ " and a jet of red-orange light, and Harry's heart skittered to a stop. For the briefest moment, there'd been a sense of relief—the hex had _missed_ —before the support beam he had his back up against exploded, sending shrapnel flying through the air and causing a large chunk of the ceiling to come crashing down right on top of Harry.

It was immediately clear that Harry was trapped, helplessly pinned by the heavy chunk of ceiling lying across his lower half. The shock of it left Harry stunned, and already Harry could feel his strength leaving him; he wasn't sure if he could still feel his legs. His wand had tumbled out of his hand when he fell and lay uselessly a good ten feet away, well out of his reach. Harry was decent at wandless magic, but it required an immense amount of will and focus, and right that moment all of his body's energy was focused on the hunk of metal and cement crushing him to the ground.

All at once all the anger and pain that had been fueling him for the past few hours, for the past few _months_ , seemed to evaporate, an ethereal sense of calm stealing over him. He was vaguely aware that people were still duelling around him, and he faintly registered a friendly voice yelling at Harry to _"Just hold on, we'll get you out!"_ but it was all so hazy and distant. 

In his heavy, sluggish mind, Harry had the thought that he might be dying. The idea of it was accompanied by a profound sense of relief.

Harry didn't even have enough energy left to muster up the requisite guilt he knew he should feel for being relieved, nor the sadness that should be there at leaving his friends and loved ones behind. Draco, he knew, would be furious at him for being so reckless, for giving up. He'd never forgive Harry, he knew that, but Draco didn't understand. Harry was so _tired_ , so empty. He hadn't set out to die, but he'd been living on borrowed time from the moment he came back from that platform seven years ago. He'd been ready then, and he was ready now.

Harry blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy and his body growing cold despite the fires still flickering around him. The shouts in the distance seemed to grow louder, nearer, the urgency in their tones almost managing to stir him. Almost. Vague friendly figures began to run towards him—good, he thought with some satisfaction, that must mean they'd subdued Foley's people—but they didn't hold Harry's attention for long. 

Instead, Harry's gaze was drawn towards the blond-haired man walking slowly towards him, looking at Harry with that small, secret smile Harry knew by heart, the one he saw in his mind's eye whenever he pictured the man he loved.

 _Draco_.

Harry smiled, unburdened for the first time in months, and closed his eyes.

←→

_Dear Draco,_

_With any luck, this will be the last letter I write to you. We've captured Lady Foley, and we were able to extract the information we needed to find the last of her followers. They've got something terrible planned, and hopefully we won't be too late. But whatever happens, I think this might be it._

_I'll be with you soon._

_I should be happy that my work here is almost done, and I am grateful, I am. You know how being here has weighed on me, how I've struggled with the war, the memories, the loneliness. I think maybe it hasn't quite sunk in yet that I might really be going home, that the war here is all but over. There will still be so much left for Ireland to do in the aftermath, as there was for us, but that work isn't for soldiers. They don't need me for that._

_I'm so tired, Draco. But I'm angry, too. Angry that people like Voldemort and Lady Foley keep rising to power, that nobody seems to learn from the past. Are we forever doomed to repeat history? Is there truly no way forward, no better world waiting for us?_

_I feel like death has haunted me all of my life. Will I ever be able to escape it? Family, friends, strangers. People I love and people I hate. Nobody is safe. And I know I ran to it here, that it was my choice to come to a war zone—I can hardly be surprised by the fatalities, and in a way, they've been easier to bear than any of the other losses in my life. If I'm doomed to draw death to me anyway, then what better place for me to be than somewhere where death is already inevitable._

_Then again, isn't death inevitable for us all?_

_Fuck, I don't know why I'm so morbid today. This is supposed to be a happy letter, a letter signalling our impending reunion, and I'm sure all I've done is worry you further. But don't worry about me, Draco. There's nothing I want more in the world than to see you again. I'd do anything to hold you in my arms once more._

_And I will. I will. I have to believe that. I don't think I could go on if I didn't._

_Shit, I've got to go. Fathi's calling for me—we've got another strategy meeting. I'm sorry for the short letter, but wait for me just a little longer. We'll be together again before you know it._

_One way or another, Draco, I'll see you soon._

_Harry_

←→

Harry got back from Berlin tired, but pleased. He'd accompanied Minister Shacklebolt as a member of his personal security for a meeting of several Heads of State in regards to the escalating situation in Ireland. Great Britain was already offering aid to the resistance on the ground that was trying to bring down Lady Foley, and they'd been taking refugees for months. Minister Shacklebolt was hoping to drum up support from other countries to help put an end to the madness and destruction. Guard-duty wasn't generally Harry's idea of a good time, but the topic of the Summit was one that was of particular interest to him, and there were worse people to spend time with than Kingsley. It was one more way for Harry to feel like he was doing his part to help the situation without actually fighting himself. He still felt the occasional pang when Parvati wrote him with updates from the war front, but for the most part Harry had made his peace with staying in England. He had a life here, one he wasn't eager to leave.

He'd thrown himself into his work over the past few days, glad that he had something to focus all of his attention on. Every spare moment when he hadn't been absorbed by work was spent obsessing over his plans for tomorrow night, and there was only so much of that he could take before he exploded. He was already vibrating with excitement and anxiety as it was, wondering if he should confirm his reservation with the restaurant tomorrow for the third time as he walked from the Portkey station to his office, _just_ to make sure.

He wanted everything to be perfect.

All week he'd carried the black ring box with him in his pocket, a small, steady weight to remind him of his plans, his future. He'd been planning this for months but as the event grew nearer, Harry became more frazzled, eager for the day to finally arrive. Harry firecalled Draco every night, and it was clear Draco knew there was something going on with Harry, though he'd thankfully left it alone beyond a couple of penetrating looks. They knew each other well enough by now to know when to push and when to wait for the other person to come to them. Harry hoped Draco was able to hold off just one more day because Harry wasn't sure he wouldn't blurt the question right out with the slightest provocation. A part of Harry would have almost preferred that—the wait was positively killing him—but he'd been planning this moment for far too long not to see it through now.

He settled in at his desk, wondering at the strange quiet of the Auror Department. It was early afternoon and generally there were more people milling about at this time, but the entire floor was eerily silent. Perhaps there was some meeting or training that he'd not been invited to since he'd been gone most of the week. They'd got back from Berlin a few hours ahead of schedule, and Harry debated going home instead of sticking around through the end of the work day. He had some paperwork he could be filling out, but nothing that was immediately pressing, and the thought of finally being _home_ sounded delightful. Draco wasn't working at St Mungo's today but Harry knew he was volunteering his services at the relief centre for another hour or two. There was plenty of time for Harry to go home and shower, and then maybe greet Draco with some takeaway. 

Naked.

Harry grinned at the thought, a gentle wave of desire cresting over him as he thought about all the filthy things he wanted to do with Draco. It had only been a couple of days since they'd last been together, but Merlin had Harry missed Draco's mouth. And his arse. And his cock. And _him_.

" _Harry_!"

Harry was wrenched from his pleasant daydreams by an anguished shout that caused his blood to freeze with dread. He shot up from his desk and looked towards the door.

Ron was standing in the doorway, his freckles standing out like drops of blood against his unnaturally pale face. His fearful expression made Harry's heart momentarily stop. Ron was panting, like he'd run all the way here from the Floos, and his eyes were wide with shock.

"What is it?" Harry asked, desperation beginning to well within him. Whatever it was, it was bad.

"There's been an attack," Ron said, and somehow Harry knew what Ron was going to say next. "At the relief centre for the Irish refugees."

 _Draco_.

Harry didn't stay to hear more, just took off sprinting down the corridor towards the Apparition platform. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so panicked, so terrified. Draco was supposed to be _safe_ ; Harry never would have left him here otherwise. That had been Draco's whole bloody argument for staying in Britain and helping the war efforts at home instead of joining the front lines. He wasn't supposed to get hurt.

But Draco was smart, and careful. He knew how to protect himself. It would be fine. _He_ would be fine. He'd tease Harry for worrying and Harry would make him promise to be more careful, and they'd go out to dinner tomorrow like Harry planned. And when Harry asked him to marry him, Draco would say yes.

It was all going to be all right.

He launched onto the platform, completely ignoring the queue. Thankfully he was still in his Auror robes and he was Harry bloody Potter, and the grumbles quickly cut off when they caught sight of who was cutting in. It took him a few seconds longer than usual to clear his mind enough to Apparate, but eventually he focused so intently on Draco that he was whisked away to the street outside the centre.

Or what was left of it.

The building was in shambles, more a burning, charred mess of beams and metal than an actual structure. What was left of the centre appeared to still be on fire, with teams of wizards directing jets of water from their wands in an attempt to control the blaze. The air was thick with smoke. Harry's eyes began to water and he gagged before casting a charm to clear the air around him. Aurors and other Ministry officials milled around the perimeter that had been set, and Harry scanned the area, looking for the pearlescent bubble that, as per protocol, Aurors erected first thing to serve as a triage centre of sorts. Critical injuries would be treated there as necessary before the patients were transferred to St Mungo's, and those with lesser ailments could be found there too, receiving care while they waited to give their statements.

A sick feeling of dread filled him when no bubble appeared on the horizon, but its absence could have meant any number of things. Harry wasn't sure when the attack happened—perhaps they'd already cleared off all of the victims. Or maybe the Aurors were so busy containing the situation that they'd broken protocol and hadn't cast the charm. Or perhaps the smoke that was still stinging Harry's eyes was somehow blinding him to its location.

There was no need to panic.

It looked like just about every Auror on staff was working the scene, and Harry scanned for Head Auror Robards, certain he'd have taken charge of such a high profile attack. Sure enough, he was not twenty yards away, barking orders at a pair of Junior Aurors, his face already lined with exhaustion and the heavy weight of responsibility.

"Robards," Harry called out, striding over to him. Robards looked at him in sudden surprise before his expression changed, and the look of gentle compassion on his normally gruff, stony face made Harry stumble. Robards caught him before he fell, his hand a large, heavy weight on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, lad," he said, and he sounded it, too, though Harry knew he'd never fully approved of Harry's relationship with _the former Death Eater_. His voice was softer, kinder, than Harry had ever heard it before and that, more than anything, drove home his next words. "There were no survivors."

Harry shook his head, refusing to believe what Robards was saying while his boss explained that the attack had been planned by Lady Foley as a way to strike fear into the hearts of those that dared to escape her rule. She seemed to have taken her cue from Muggle suicide bombers and had given three dedicated followers special charms layered with several explosive and extremely volatile spells. They'd stationed themselves strategically throughout the building and had self-destructed, taking out everyone and everything around them.

_There had been no survivors._

Now that he was looking for it, he made out the shimmering grey of the shield spell they used for victims that were dead on arrival. Was that where Draco was? He moved towards the bubble as if in a trance, but Robards grabbed hold of his arm stilling him and shaking his head.

"No, Harry. You don't want to see that. There's not"—he cleared his throat—"there's no way to make a positive identification."

Harry let out a strange little cry he'd not known he was capable of, like the shriek of a mortally wounded animal. "Then how do you know who was even in there? Maybe he got out! Maybe he's—"

Robards looked deeply uncomfortable, as if we wanted to comfort Harry but wasn't quite sure how. Strong arms wrapped around him, and he was filled with a momentary elation before he realised those arms weren't Draco's, but Ron's. He sagged into him as Robards gave him another compassionate look.

"We know, Harry." There was such finality there, the kind of positive surety Harry knew Robards wouldn't dole out lightly.

All the fight rushed out of Harry. _Everything_ rushed out of Harry. All feeling, all sensation, even the ability to stand left him and he crumpled to the ground. He was vaguely aware that Ron had followed him down, was still holding him close, but he couldn't feel him. Harry couldn't feel anything at all save the corner of the ring box in his pocket, digging into his side, the weight no longer as comforting as it had been less than an hour earlier.

Harry pictured Draco as he'd been the last time he'd seen him, right before Harry had left for Berlin. He'd tsked over the sorry state of Harry's robes, _You're going to be in the company of heads of state, Harry! Not your mates at the pub._ and had cast several grooming charms until Harry was deemed _presentable_. Then he'd given Harry that small, fond smile he only ever bestowed upon Harry, the one that Harry knew meant _I love you_ , and he'd leaned in to give Harry a truly spectacular goodbye kiss. _So you have something to wank over while we're apart._

Draco couldn't be gone. This couldn't be real. That wasn't the last time he got to see Draco's face, to hold him in his arms, to see that smile. This was all just a dream. A nightmare. 

He closed his eyes.

He'd wake up any minute.

←→

**Author's Note:**

> [Kudos ♥] and [Comments] are fabulous! I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://gracerene09.tumblr.com/)!


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